


Another Like Me

by captainnperfecthair



Category: X-Men, X-Men (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Calm Down Erik, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Cherik - Freeform, Erik the Nazi-Hunter, Gen, Hints of Charles' awful childhood, M/M, Nazis, Poor Charles, Young Charles and Erik
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-10 09:17:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5579956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainnperfecthair/pseuds/captainnperfecthair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 1950. Charles Xavier is a seventeen year old telepath trying to master his abilities before he goes to college. Erik Lehnsherr is a nineteen year old orphan who has spent every waking hour since the end of World War II trying to track down the man who killed his mother. Slaying the Nazis he runs into on the way is just a bonus. It's by the strangest twists of Fate that they happen to meet one day in New York City and Charles becomes a vital piece in Erik's plans to find and interrogate the latest lead he has on Klaus Schmidt's whereabouts. Or should we say Sebastian Shaw's?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based off of Professor X's comment in the original X-Men film that he met Erik when he was 17 and Magneto's comment in the film that he first saw the Statue of Liberty in 1949, when he arrived in America.

                Charles hasn’t been to New York City in years. He remembers how, before his powers developed, his nanny would take him out shopping or to spend a day at the zoo so he wouldn’t be cooped up so much in the house. Not that Charles ever objected; he was always content to stay at home, sitting at the window that overlooked the grounds and reading book after book. He also remembers his mother taking him to orchestral concerts and a Broadway show or two before she remarried.

                It all ended quite abruptly, however, after an outing to see the orchestra with his mother, her awful new husband, Kurt, and his son Cain. Charles was nine at the time, constantly pressing his fingers to his temple in an attempt to massage away the migraines and the voices that he’d been hearing for a year. Being only nine years old, Charles thought he was going mad and was simply doing all he could to keep his composure so his family wouldn’t find out and think him crazy. He recalls his mother being mildly concerned, but she thought they were only migraines. The most she did, and thought she had to do, was hand him a couple painkillers and a glass of water. She would say that if it helped her hangovers, then it would help a headache.

                A headache like the one he has now, sitting at a café in the heart of New York with a half-finished cup of tea. Just like he did eight years ago, Charles has his fingers at his temple and is rubbing circles into his temples as he tries to concentrate on shutting the voices out. The difference, however, is that he has a great deal more control over his powers now. He has ever since what happened with Kurt and Cain. The city, however, still poses a challenge for him and that’s why he’s here now. Charles is making every effort to improve his telepathic control in larger areas, especially now that he’s heading off to Oxford in a few weeks. Oxford isn’t nearly as populated as New York or London, but he doesn’t want to risk the possibility of a lapse in control while in a lecture or strolling through campus.

                Having sensed his anxiety about this particular issue, Raven has spent the past several weeks trying to reassure him that he is ready for Oxford. She keeps reminding him that he has much better control than he did seven years ago; that he hasn’t had a severe lapse in years. Still, Charles feels like he is unprepared. His trips to New York are only trips. He isn’t eating, sleeping, walking around, and living here around the clock. Keeping his control for several hours while sitting at a café or shopping with Raven is not the same as that. Even after sitting at this café for six hours, Charles is developing a substantial headache and already feeling exhausted.

                But he shouldn’t be selling himself too short, because his stamina is growing. It used to be much worse, as Raven can certainly attest to. When she first found out about his excursions to the city to test his limits, she’d been quite upset that he hadn’t told her about it. _“What if you got too overwhelmed by all those minds, Charles? If you passed out or just started clutching your head and shouting again?”_ He knows it was a reckless move, but at the time he had insisted that he couldn’t have Raven there by him all the time to help him rein things in. The answer didn’t satisfy her after seeing him come home swaying on his feet with tired eyes and an aching head. Ever since then, she’s insisted on tagging along with him.

                At some point, he was able to convince her that he could handle being alone for a few hours so she didn’t have to drag him around. He’d pick a bookstore, a café, a library, and sit down (usually with a cup of tea) and a book. In a few hours, Raven would come to check on him and they would head home at her discretion. In these situations, whether Charles is the older of the two of them or not, Raven calls the shots.

                _“I know what it’s like to push yourself too far,”_ she told him once, explaining a time when she was younger and still struggling to keep a particular appearance up for more than a few hours. She doesn’t want such a thing happening to Charles. She also explained how much it hurt to watch him suffering when his telepathy got the better of him. It isn’t like those early years before he understood that it was telepathy rather than insanity that was troubling him, but Charles has to imagine that it’s pretty awful to watch. He certainly wouldn’t want to have to bear witness to such a thing happening to Raven.

                So he’s willing to make a few concessions to keep his sister from worrying, even if it means making progress at a bit of a slower pace. Though he’d never admit it to her, she has made a good call in insisting on going with him. Charles does have a tendency to overdo things whether it be reading for hours on end and forgetting to eat and sleep or trying to hone his telepathic skills.

                Trying to hold out when he should really step down was what led to him curling in on himself in the aisle of a crowded theatre at intermission eight years prior. The massaging and a couple painkillers worked until intermission, when his head suddenly filled with commentary about the performance so far and conversations that were beginning again after being interrupted by the start of the performance. Charles found himself clutching his head and squeezing his eyes shut, trying to block out the noise and not noticing the concerned glances his mother was giving him or the disturbed looks on Kurt and Cain’s faces.

                _“Charles, whatever is the matter with you?”_ his mother had asked in a hushed voice. It was clear to him, even then, that she was less genuinely concerned about his well-being than she was worried someone would see and think she had a son who was disturbed.

                Try as he might to keep himself reigned in and to stop the onslaught, Charles didn’t know how back then. He had only had his powers for a few months. The pain was too much, and before he knew it he was on his knees. He huddled between his seat and the one before him, hidden between the rows as his mother’s hand hovered over his shoulder like she was afraid to touch him.

                “Make it stop,” Charles whimpered to no one in particular. But the longer he huddled there, the more people began to stop and stare. And as people’s attention was attracted more and more to the child having some sort of fit in the middle of the theatre, his family’s fear and unease grew.

                He doesn’t know when he started to scream or even that he had until his mother mentioned it to him later, but as soon as he did Kurt took over. He roughly hoisted Charles to his feet and dragged him out of the theatre with Cain and his mother trailing nervously behind them.

                Charles has never had an episode like that afterwards, mainly because Kurt hardly ever let him leave the house. Not that he was particularly keen on going out, anyway. At home, Charles was able to manage to keep the voices at bay even as his telepathic range grew. It was a combination of the quietness of the countryside and the medication that one of the many, many doctors and psychiatrists prescribed him that has kept him from a repeat performance. But after two years of voices still echoing in his mind and medication doing very little to curb them, Charles came to realize that it had to be something else.

                He was twelve when he finally figured out that the voices were in everyone else’s head and not his. He wasn’t crazy, he was telepathic. With an understanding of what was happening to him, Charles began to look into ways to calm his mind, shut out the other minds, and gain control.

                It was just after he’d established a routine for himself that worked and begun experimenting with his abilities that he met Raven and his whole world changed. He wasn’t crazy and he wasn’t alone. Charles was different, and so was she.

                Threading his fingers through his hair, Charles bows his head and shuts his eyes. He can smell the delightful aroma of the Earl Grey sitting in front of him, soothing him despite the discomfort he’s experiencing at the moment. It’s his fourth or fifth cup, he isn’t sure which, but he doesn’t care. At this point, the tea is mostly forgotten as he tries to concentrate on calming his mind before his head splits open. He is on his sixth hour here, which is a new record. Raven stopped by for lunch about two hours ago, so she won’t be by again for at least another hour. She typically checks in every three hours just to be safe.

                Charles feels like he should be doing better at this point in his training, but to be fair the café des seem to be particularly noisy today. Noisy thought-wise, that is. There is a pair of German men in their thirties sitting three tables over having a hushed conversation about the war. Although Charles has tried to keep out of their thoughts, he’s gathered by this point that they were once Nazi soldiers stationed at Auschwitz. They are both struggling to come to terms with their roles in the war now that five years have passed. Having done some introspection, the pair is sincerely beginning to regret their participation in some horrendous acts. One of them is talking about meeting a widow from their camp a few weeks ago at the store. After catching the tattooed number on her arm, he’d asked her which camp she was in and how she ended up in America.

                “ _Her husband. Her two kids. All gone. They’regoneit’smyfault. My fault,”_ Charles catches him thinking, the sharp pangs of guilt and grief sticking in Charles’ throat. He swallows, getting a grip on his powers and burying the foreign emotions. A few seconds later, the feelings are gone.

                A middle-aged married couple and their young daughter are sat across the dining area from Charles, their hatred towards each other spilling off in waves and inundating Charles with so much hostility that he finds himself gripping at his teacup with white knuckles. When he notices, it takes him a minute to calm his mind and let go of the cup. But oh the things they were thinking at each other were absolutely vicious! It’s a good thing their daughter isn’t a telepath or she would be in tears right now. Charles can tell by skimming the girl’s mind that she knows her parents are upset with each other about something, but she has no idea that they are in the middle of filing for divorce.

                The worst out of everyone is the waiter, though. He’s somewhere in the vicinity, flitting about with a rage and ill-intent like Charles has never witnessed before. While he keeps moving about serving customers, Charles notices his attention continually coming back to the German pair to Charles’ left. So far he hasn’t been able to get a good look at the man. Every time Charles feels his presence draw near, he lifts his head to see what this brooding stranger looks like only to see him disappear right back inside the café, round a corner, or disappear between the customers and staff traveling through the dining area.

                But at last, after half an hour of intent observation on Charles’ part, the man in question approaches the German men’s table. Charles overhears him asking them with a rather unconvincingly customer-friendly voice whether they need a refill on their drinks. One of them asks for another glass of water, the other turns him down.

                From his table, Charles can see the man clearly now. He is only a few years older than Charles and has very pointed features, a stern face, short brown hair, and a steel-hard gaze. He looks preditorial in every sense of the word, like he is always on guard and ready to strike the next enemy who comes into his proximity.

                When he looks into the man’s mind, Charles can see that he as an astute, calculating, and driven individual. He is fixated on seeking revenge for a wrong committed during the war. This mission the man— _Erik Lehnsherr,_ his mind supplies for Charles—has been his sole driving force for five years. Until he catches the man he is after, he will think of nothing else but the revenge he desperately craves for the death of his mother and the atrocities committed against his people.

                The ferocity of Erik’s thoughts is potent and overwhelming, so much so that Charles finds himself feeling a bit dizzy. Again he needs to take a moment to compose himself and let the second-hand anger wash off of him. By the time he comes back to reality, Erik is gone and Charles is again gripping his teacup far too tightly. The telepath loosens his group and gulps down a sip to soothe himself. To his dismay but certainly to no surprise, it is already going cold. He isn’t even halfway finished.

                A few moments later Erik returns with a glass of water in hand, setting it down at the Germans’ table. Charles watches the table carefully, sensing that the Germans are nearly ready to leave and that as soon as they do, Erik will follow. It is his plan to follow them and corner them in some alleyway. From there he plans to interrogate them and deliver a swift and sweet vengeance that he believes them to be long overdue in receiving.

                Trying not to look too obvious, Charles flips open his copy of Darwin’s _Origin of Species_. It’s a book he’s already read several times, but every time he hopes to find something new. The discovery of his and Raven’s abilities made him rethink the whole idea of evolution. Evolution should take centuries, but here he and Raven are with extraordinary abilities that no one else seems to harbor. Charles doesn’t think they are alone and certainly doesn’t want to believe they are, but until he met others it seems like people like he and Raven are very, very few and very, very far between.

                Charles doesn’t think he’s buried his nose in Darwin for long, but when he looks up again to check on the Germans, they are gone and Erik Lehnsherr is tearing off the apron around his waist, tossing it carelessly onto the chair that one of the men had occupied only moments ago, and stalking after them. His pace is brisk but he is trying to look casual amongst the throng of pedestrians on the street. Charles hastily shoves Darwin into his bag, yanks a bill from his pocket, and slips it under his tea saucer. Slinging his bag over his shoulder as he walks, Charles hurries after Erik and the ex-Nazis.

                Two blocks away from the café, Erik makes his second right. When he follows, Charles sees that the road they are on now is narrow; certainly too narrow for any cars. Buildings crowd Charles from both sides, towering above him and casting the alleyway in shadow. The sounds of the main streets grow distant.

                This isn’t the way the Germans went. They are still on the main road as far as Erik knows. One quick look into Erik’s mind tells Charles that Erik has taken the backroads in an attempt to cut them off. Once he turns left up ahead, he’ll be able to cut them off from the main road and pull them into this one. It will provide him with enough privacy to question them all he needs to.

                What Charles hasn’t seen, however, is that Erik is becoming increasingly aware that someone is behind him. Before he can even realize that he isn’t being nearly discrete enough and giving himself and Erik a wide enough berth, Charles sees Erik spinning around and raising a hand. Charles turns around to see what Erik’s attention is actually focused on (because it isn’t him) just in time to see some piece of metal debris flying towards him.

                He feels the briefest sensation of utter shock and awe at what he is seeing— _did this man just telekinetically throw something at him?_ —and then everything goes dark.

                --

                The first thing Charles becomes aware of when he wakes up is that his head bloody _hurts._ It’s throbbing terribly, new waves of pain hitting him every couple of seconds. With a groan, Charles tries to raise a hand to rub his temple just like he always does when his head is causing him trouble, but it turns out that they’re restrained. With a jolt of panic, Charles opened his eyes with a groan and turns his head to his left and then his right. His arms are restrained by sections of what look like some kind of piping. They dig into the sides of the building on either side of his wrists, effectively trapping his hands beside his head.

                _What the hell?_ Where did this metal come from? How did— _oh. It must have been Erik!_ Charles thinks he imagined the metal flying towards him right before he blacked out, but no, apparently what he saw is real. Which means that Erik—

                “Who the hell are you and why are you following me?”

                Oh, yes. Of course Erik is standing right in front of him and impatiently awaiting an explanation.

                Blinking through the pain that is making his head feel like lead and the lingering haze of unconsciousness, Charles considers his response carefully. Erik is a volatile, suspicious man and if Charles gives the wrong answer…well, he doesn’t want to stay on that train of thought any longer.

                “I’m sorry, I saw the way you were watching the Germans at the café and was concerned you were going to harm them,” Charles answers in as level a voice as he can manage.

                “I thought I saw you watching me…” Erik murmurs, but says no more than that about Charles’ supposedly clandestine motives back at the café.  “I was only going to give them what they deserved. They have it coming to them,” Erik growls, a feral gleam in his eyes that unnerves Charles. Not that that’s going to stop him from trying to pull Erik away from the ledge he is teetering on here.

                He wants to say that he understands why Erik wants to get his vengeance so badly, but that would reveal that he has telepathy and Charles isn’t sure that’s the best of ideas right now. He doesn’t think Erik would like knowing someone got into his head. Even without reading the man’s mind, Charles can see that Erik is a very private individual. Telepathy is the most invasive intrusion of that privacy, and surely Erik will not respond favorably to it.

                Still treading carefully, Charles answers, “I can imagine they must have done something terrible to you, but violence won’t help any. Harming them— _killing_ them—won’t bring you any peace.” He knows that bit from personal experience. The abuse he has endured from Cain never made his step-brother feel any better. Kurt had continued to abuse the both of them. The one time he accidentally lashed back at Cain had brought him the exact opposite of peace, either. He hadn’t been able to sleep for weeks due to the guilt that had plagued him.

                “I think I’ll make that decision for myself. What business is this of yours, anyway?” Erik takes a step toward him, observing him carefully as he awaits Charles’ response.

                “I—I couldn’t sit idly by and let you harm another person.”

                Erik doesn’t look satisfied with the answer. Not only can Charles see it in his face, but he can also feel it in the way his restraints tighten just slightly. Charles wriggles his fingers and flexes his wrists as best he can.

                “I still don’t see how that’s your business,” Erik replies sharply. “You don’t even know who those men were; the kinds of atrocities against my people that they’re responsible for.”

                “No, I understand. I saw the numbers on your arm,” Charles says, glancing down at Erik’s arm where 6 digits are forever etched into his arm in ink. Looking back up into Erik’s eyes, Charles continues, “I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for you; what kind of horrors you’ve been through.”

“No, you can’t,” Erik growls, grey-blue eyes dark like a brewing storm hovering overhead. “You have no idea.”

“I’m not trying to say I do. But hurting those men won’t change what has happened.”

“Perhaps not, but it will bring them justice.”

Charles lets out a huff of desperation. He stares back at Erik with an expression that pleads for understanding. “That pain will still be there, though. Who and what you’ve lost during the war won’t come back to you if you hurt them.”

                The metal around his wrists tightens in response, enough to make Charles wince. He can feel the buckle on his belt digging into his skin, too.

                “Doesn’t matter. They still have to answer for what they’ve done,” Erik insists, and for a moment Charles gets a glimpse of the other people Erik has made answer for their crimes. He sees knives flying, pistols hovering in the air and their triggers being pulled by some invisible force. He hears the pleas and cries of men as they ask for mercy. Erik has spared them none. Not a single one of them.

                There is no ledge to steer Erik away from—he has already leaped off of it. Charles can sense no remorse for his actions in Erik’s mind. To him, all of his actions have been necessary.

                “And what makes you think that you’re the one meant to dispense such justice?” Charles demands, voice a little stronger and more firm.

                “I’m not having this conversation with you, kid. You’re too naïve to understand. You haven’t bared witness to the things I’ve bared witness to,” Erik says with an angry but dismissive tone.

                “Kid?” Charles can’t help but exclaim. “You’re only 19! You’re only two years older than I am!” And then, realizing he sounds far too confident in Erik’s age, he adds, “Or somewhere around there, I’d presume.”

                Erik raises a thick, questioning eyebrow at him, but says nothing. “Point of the matter is, I’ve heard enough out of you. You’ve made me lose my targets—who I’ve been tracking for _weeks,_ I might add—and seen what I can do…” he shakes his head like he’s quite sorry for what he’s about to say, but Charles senses no remorse from him. The telepath’s eyes widen in alarm as he comes to the realization: _Oh God, he’s going to kill me!_ He doesn’t need to read Erik’s mind or hear the next words come out of his mouth to know, the man’s practically broadcasting it to him. “I’m afraid I don’t have much of a choice here. Es tut mir Leid.”

Erik raises a hand and a dagger slowly rises out from the inner pocket of his jacket.

                “Wait!” Charles shouts, a bit more frantic and desperate sounding than he intends. “You don’t want to kill me! I—I’m like you!” Given what Erik has just said about Charles seeing what he is capable of, Charles figures he can save himself if he proves that he is like Erik. He doesn’t think Erik even knows there is anyone else out there like him.

                The dagger halts in midair and Erik’s brows rise in incredulity. “What?”

                “I’m like you, Erik. You can control metal? Well, I can read minds,” Charles explains, voice a bit rushed because of the adrenaline and the way Erik holds his life in his hands. He reminds himself to remain calm, though. He’s pretty confident that Erik won’t kill him and that he won’t need to use his own powers to ensure that.

                “Bullshit. You’re working with them, aren’t you? That’s how you know. That’s why you were watching.” Charles blinks in disbelief that Erik would jump to such a conclusion. And in that time, he suddenly finds the dagger has moved through the air and is at his throat.

                “No, no it’s not, I swear to you, Erik. My name is Charles Xavier, your name is Erik Lehnsherr.” He swallows carefully, craning his neck away from the blade that has dug into his flesh ever so slightly. “You’re looking for Klaus Schmidt. He killed your mother as well as tortured and experimented on you while you were at Auschwitz. Those men were stationed at the camp while you were there and you were hoping to get information from them on Schmidt’s whereabouts. I _know_ , Erik. I know what it meant to you, but I couldn’t sit back and condone that kind of violence.”

Erik is silent for a long moment, staring at him as a mixture of feelings wash across his face: shock, disbelief, anger, relief. Charles scarcely breathes, his eyes going from Erik’s face to the hilt of the knife at his throat.

“I didn’t think there was anyone else out there…” Erik whispers at last.

 _Looks like he’s settled on shock,_ Charles thinks. _That’s a relief_. “Like you?” he finishes for him quietly. He would’ve shaken his head, but…well, that’s probably not the wisest thing to do right now. He wants to remain as still as possible. “I thought I was alone, as well, up until five years ago.”

“Are you saying you know others?”

“No, just one other. Look, I’d be quite happy to continue this conversation, but perhaps before we go any further you might consider lowering the knife?” Charles asks cautiously, swallowing again as he glances back down towards the object still hovering in front of him and pressing into his throat.

“Oh, right. Yes,” Erik waves a hand and the knife withdraws itself and flies straight into his waiting palm.

“This might be pressing my luck a bit, but would it be too much to ask if you could consider releasing me from these…restraints, as well?” Charles askes, wiggling his fingers to remind Erik that he is still cuffed to the wall.

“As long as you promise not to get inside my mind again, it’s a deal.”

“I’ll do my absolute best not to, but to be honest I’m still trying to control my abilities, especially while in heavily populated areas like New York City.” Even if it isn’t the most reassuring thing for a man as skittish about having his mind read as Erik seems to be, Charles can’t help but be honest.

Thankfully, the answer seems good enough to satisfy Erik. If anything, Charles’ honestly has earned a small token of trust. “I…imagine it can’t be easy,” he says, flicking his wrist. The piping tears itself out of the bricks and clatters onto the dusty road. Charles, having been about a foot off the ground, collapses in the dirt on his knees.

Slowly he gets to his feet, brushing off his slacks and his arms to the best of his ability. It doesn’t make much of difference. Charles can still see patches of brown on his khakis, and even so there’s still the dust on his back from when he was knocked out, too.

                Charles takes a moment to find his balance again, wringing and twisting his wrists now that he has the freedom of motion to do so and patting the back of his head. Sure enough, there is a large welt there that hurts at even the faintest touch. God, how hard did Erik whack him?

                Erik watches him carefully as he collects himself and takes stock of his injuries. Charles adds ‘quiet’ to the growing list of words to describe Erik Lehnsherr, just below ‘private,’ ‘suspicious,’ and ‘extremely guarded.’ It’s quite a list for a man he’s met only…well, Charles isn’t sure how long ago he met Erik. He doesn’t know how long he’s been out for. Half an hour at the most?

                With time on his mind, Charles remembers that Raven will be coming back to the café soon to that they head home. Charles hasn’t taken a look at himself in the mirror yet, but he can only imagine that he looks dreadful. There is no way Raven will let them linger in the city any longer. If he’s to be honest, he’s had about enough of New York City for today, anyway.

                “Well, as much as I’d love to stand here in some back alley and chat, I really had better get back to the café. I came here with my sister and while she’s been off shopping or doing who knows what, she’s bound to be back here soon. She’ll want to be heading home, I suspect,” Charles says, clapping his hands with a finality that suggests they begin to head back the way they came. “I’d like to continue our conversation there, if possible.”

                “Your sister, is she the other person? The one who’s like us?” Erik asks from behind him, startling Charles and leading him to break his stride.

                Turning halfway around, he looks back at Erik with surprise. “How do you figure that?”

                Erik shruggs. “Lucky guess.”

                “You could meet her. I’m sure you have plenty of questions for us both. I know I’ve got plenty for you.”

                “You want me to meet your sister even when you just met me and you know I’m a Nazi-killing Auschwitz-survivor who knocked you out in an alleyway and threatened to kill you?” He’s looking at Charles like he’s half-mad. He probably isn’t wrong.

                “I’ve got some terrible self-preservation instincts,” Charles says with a laugh. “No, but in all seriousness, I do believe you don’t wish either of us any harm. You could meet Raven, we could get to know each other a little better, and perhaps we can arrange to stay in touch. I don’t think any of us should have to feel alone.”

                Erik doesn’t look entirely convinced. He doesn’t want to stray from his mission any longer than it takes to get a meal or use the restroom. Going with Charles to meet his sister and talk about their unique abilities means losing precious time in his search for Klaus Schmidt.

                Charles desperately wants Erik to agree to come along. Erik is different just like him and Raven, so he can’t just let the man disappear. Charles wants to know more about who he is, when his powers manifested, how he taught himself what he knows and how skilled he is at controlling his ability. Not only that, but Charles feels like they need to stick together. By working together, they can try to find more people like themselves or at least support each other as they try to master their abilities.

                At any rate, Charles can’t imagine just letting Erik walk away. So as an incentive of sorts, he offers this: “I’ll help you locate those men and see what they know, but you _cannot_ hurt them. They’re sorry for what they did during the war; I felt their guilt that they live with every day. They don’t need to be punished, they’re already punishing themselves.”

                “Alright,” Erik agrees at last. “Under the condition that you help me find those men and get them to tell me what they know about Schmidt.”

                Charles can’t help but grin at his success. “Yes! Oh, she’ll be so excited to meet you,” he says, turning in the direction they came from and beginning to make his way toward the main streets again.

                “You may want to be taking this with you,” Erik calls after him. Spinning around, Charles gasps when he realizes he almost left his bag forgotten in the dirt. Erik must have stripped him of it while he was unconscious.

                “Oh, yes, thank you! Certainly don’t want to be forgetting that,” he says as Erik tosses it over. Charles catches it roughly only after nearly dropping it. He hears Erik scoff at his fumble, causing his cheeks to redden much to his infinite embarrassment. Charles bows his head to hide it, but also in the interest of checking that all the contents of his bag are still present. Satisfied, he slings it over his shoulder and looks back up at Erik. “Right. Off we pop, then.”

                As they walk, Erik is surprisingly the one to continue the conversation. “So you’re a fan of Darwin, I see.”

                “You saw the book?” He can’t imagine how Erik managed to see what was inside his bag from the distance he was at, so the telepath figures he must’ve peeked at it earlier.

                “I checked your bag while you were unconscious. As a precaution.” He glances over at Charles with an apologetic look. Typically he wouldn’t bother justifying his actions to anyone, but for some reason he really wants Charles to understand that he respects not only his own privacy but the privacy of others, as well. He wants to explain himself and gain the telepath’s respect. It’s an odd feeling after five years of not caring one lick about anyone else’s opinion. But Erik gets the sense that Charles often engenders this kind of need-to-impress attitude.

                “It’s alright, I understand. You were wary of me. I must admit I would have been a little suspicious of myself, too, were I in your position,” Charles assures him. “How long did you have to do that?” he wonders, hoping to get an understanding of how long he was unconscious for.

                Erik reads his intentions all too well, and so he skips right to the chase. “You were out for about twenty minutes. More than long enough for me to try to find the men I was after once I’d incapacitated you. It took me two blocks—roughly ten minutes—to come to terms with the fact that I’d lost them before I returned to where I’d left you.”

                “You left me there?” Charles eyes widen. He opens his mouth twice to say something, but ultimately shuts his mouth and concedes that he can understand Erik’s line of thinking: leave the suspicious guy following you down the alley and go after your target. “Alright, I can kind of see your point.” _Not that I have to like it._

                “I was with you for the other ten or so minutes you were out for,” Erik says in a weak attempt to make up for having left Charles there alone for the first ten minutes.

                A silence stretches between them then as they continue down the block before Erik looks over at him. “Do you mind telling me your name again? You were speaking a tad too quickly earlier for me to catch it.”

                Charles chuckles. “Yes, having a dagger at your throat will tend to quicken the tongue a bit,” he teases. Stopping for a moment, he turns to Erik, wanting to make this a much more proper introduction. “I’m Charles, Charles Xavier.” He extends a hand out to him.

                “It’s…a pleasure to meet you, Charles.” Erik has the firmest handshake Charles has ever encountered. It’s almost bone crushing, to be honest. Charles has to suppress a wince as he withdraws his hand and stops himself from shaking it out.

                “And you as well, Erik.” Despite the bone crushing handshake, the rough demeanor, and the near-death experience, Charles finds himself grinning from ear to ear.

\--

                “What on _earth_ happened to you?” Raven exclaims as she approaches Charles’ table at the café.

                “Raven!” he exclaims excitedly as he looks up to greet her and purposely ignores her question. Erik is sitting across from him, looking tense but friendly enough. “Raven, I’d like you to meet Erik Lehnsherr. Erik, this is my younger sister Raven,” he says, gesturing to each of them as he says their names.

                Raven steps over to the other side of the table and extends a hand like Charles did not long before her. “Nice to meet you, Erik. When did you two meet?”

                “No less than three hours or so ago,” Charles answers as Erik shakes her hand.

                When she withdraws her hand, Raven doesn’t hold back from shaking her hand and commenting on Erik’s handshake. “Wow, strong handshake there, buster.” Charles inwardly winces. Hasn’t he taught her better manners than that?

                “My apologies,” Erik says immediately.

                “So you two just met, huh,” Raven says, hand on her hip. “Was it while sitting here? What, are you both boring old farts who read boring old books and drink tasteless cups of tea? Were you bonding over that stupid Darwin book again?”

                Erik snorts, trying and failing to hold back a laugh. Charles glares at her.

                “Raven, I’m not a boring old fart,” he insists, but it only makes Raven giggle and shake her head. Erik makes a sound of amusement.

                “Yes you are, but it’s okay. I love you anyway,” she assures him, ruffling his hair and shooting him a smile that is meant to reassure him.

                Charles frowns at her, bringing his hands up to his hair to fix the damage she’s inflicted. “To answer your question, we didn’t bond over Darwin or tea. We didn’t quite meet here.”

                “No, we met in an alley about a block from here after I knocked him over the head for following me,” Erik bluntly finishes for him.

                “What?” Raven’s eyes widen, her gaze going from Erik to Charles to Erik again. “Are you serious?”

                “Erik,” Charles says pointedly, giving the older youth a withering look.

                “Charles, what the hell?”

                “Oi! Language, Raven.” Raven rolls her eyes. “I was following him because I happened to read his mind and the minds of the men he was after. He was going to harm them, so I decided to intervene.”

                “And I, having noticed him following me, knocked him out. When I discovered that I’d lost my targets while dealing with Charles, I went back and waited for him to wake up so I could question him about why he was stalking me.”

                “And this leads to you two being friends _how_?” Raven asks, pulling a seat from another table over to stare at the both of them like they’re crazy.

                “Ah, this is the part I was waiting for,” Charles says with excitement. “Raven, I didn’t realize until I woke up, but Erik is like us! He can manipulate metal!”

                Raven’s eyes grow as wide as his tea saucer. “What? No way!”

                “Erik, if you’d be so kind,” Charles says, gesturing to the metal-bender.

                Raven watches with amazement as the utensils in front of Erik curl in on themselves. “That’s incredible!” she breathes, unable to stop staring in awe at the warped set of silverware.

                “As soon as I found out he was one of…whatever we are, I knew you two had to meet. You see, Raven? We’re not alone.” Charles knows he’s gesturing wildly seeing as he has a habit of waving his hands when he gets particularly impassioned about something, but he doesn’t care. Raven is sure to make fun of him for it later, but he can deal with it later because right now he can hardly contain his excitement.

                “No, definitely not alone,” she murmurs, eyes coming up to meet Erik’s. Her eyes flicker to their natural, striking shade of yellow just long enough for Erik to see them. The metal-bender gasps.

                “So you’re really a shape shifter,” he says, and Raven nods proudly.

                “I could show you a real magic trick if we weren’t sitting in a crowded outdoor café in the middle of New York City,” Raven grins.

                “Another time, perhaps,” Charles suggests eagerly, looking from Raven to Erik.

                Those cool, grey-blue eyes stare uncertainly back at him. Erik looks skittish and ready to run. Charles can tell he isn’t the type of person who usually goes on to have more than one or two encounters with anyone. He’s too preoccupied with his revenge against Schmidt to waste his time building relationships.

                “I understand your primary concern is finding Schmidt, but you can’t let that stop you from meeting others like yourself and enjoying your life. I’m sure your mother wouldn’t want you squandering your years hunting down her killer and refusing to enjoy yourself even a bit.”

                Erik’s gaze softens as he stops to consider his mother for a moment. “No, she wouldn’t,” he answers quietly. When he continues, however, his tone is harsher and the warmth in his voice is gone. “But it’s still my obligation to get back at the man responsible for ending her life. I won’t stop, Charles.”

                “And we’re not asking you to,” Raven interjects, a little cautious because she knows far less about Erik than Charles does.

                Charles nods, giving Raven a look of approval before adding, “We’re only asking that you let others into your life. Let us help you. You don’t have to be alone.”

                “Not interested,” Erik replies flatly. “Besides, aren’t you heading to Oxford shortly? You mentioned you were going to start attending college in the fall.”

                “Well, yes, I am. But—” Charles falters. “I know that you’ve done a lot of traveling—sorry, it was before you asked me to stay out of your thoughts—“

                “I only travel when I think I’ve found a lead on Schmidt.”

                “Yes, well then maybe we could keep in touch via post?” Charles suggests.

                “Yeah, we could write to each other and then if you ever happen to be near Oxford, you can make a visit,” Raven supplies, and telepathically Charles sends her a wave of affection and approval. He’s so pleased to see Raven jumping onboard with this idea of bringing Erik into their circle.

                Erik shakes his head. “I don’t do pen pals. Look, it’s not that I’m not excited to meet others like myself, but right now having any kind of relationship is dangerous and a distraction.”

                Charles and Raven frown. “Give it a chance, Erik. You can’t shut everyone out forever,” Raven insists, clapping her hands together like she’s saying a prayer.

                “Alright, how about this,” Charles says in a compromising tone, “We let you think about it some more until I finish helping you find those German fellows from earlier. If you’re still not sure, then we’ll give you until the week we leave. I’ll come back every Tuesday until then and if you don’t come back, then we’ll know you’ve made your choice. I don’t want to make you feel like you’re being pressured into something you don’t want to do.”

                “That…sounds fair,” Erik concedes. “Alright, you’ve got a deal.”

                “Sounds good to me,” Raven says, slapping her palms on the table with finality. Smiling at both boys, Raven reaches for Charles’ drink and takes a sip of it only to make a disgusted noise. Wrinkling her nose, Raven quickly sets the cup back down on the saucer in front of Charles and sticks out her tongue. “I do _not_ know how you stomach this stuff, Charles.”

                “Must be his age. Tea’s a refined taste. Takes time to learn to enjoy it,” Erik teases, surprising both siblings. For a moment they both look at him, shocked, and then Raven bursts out into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Charles eyes his sister, looking peeved but still affectionate. No matter how hard he tries to look angry, he simply loves the girl too much to even pretend to be too upset with her.

                When he eyes Erik, however, there is a hopeful gleam in his eyes. And then he begins to laugh, as well, making Erik raise an eyebrow.

                “Yes, yes, I think it’s been made clear today for Erik that I am, in fact, an ‘old fart.’ May we move on to another subject now, please?” Charles requests, but the mirth in his voice is apparent.

                Her laughter dying down at last, Raven agrees. “Alright. When did you find out about your powers, Erik? How did you start learning to control them?” she asks, innocently curious, but Charles is looking wary, like she just poked a bear.

                “Raven, I don’t think Erik wants to—” he says gingerly, but Erik interrupts him.

                “It’s alright,” Erik assures him, holding up a placating hand before turning his attention to the youngest of the three of them. Raven is looking confusedly between the two of them, knowing she’s missing some important information. “It was about a year before the camps, when I was thirteen, but I had no clue how to use them until after I came.”

                “Wait, you were…oh, God, really?” Raven looks horrified, glancing over at Charles to see if this wis why he didn’t wanted to tread these waters. Charles gives a small nod.

                “Yes, I was,” Erik answers, holding out his arm and showing her the tattoo on his forearm. Raven stares as Erik continues with his narrative. “My parents and I got to the camp and they tried to separate us. I protested, reaching for her as the gates closed. Next thing I knew, the whole thing was bending down like it was reaching back out to me. I had no idea how I was doing it, only that I was angry and desperate to reach my mother.”

                “And you didn’t, did you?” Raven is afraid to even ask, but she can’t help herself even if she though she can insinuate what the answer will be from what was said earlier about his seeking revenge for her death.

                Erik shakes his head. “They knocked me out before I could get to her. The next time I saw her, they…”

                Knowing the next part of the story from when he read Erik’s mind, Charles quickly interrupts. “Erik, you can stop there. You don’t need to continue,” he urges. It’s visibly distressing the metal-bender, as Charles can see by the way the utensils on the table are quietly rattling.

                “Oh, yeah, you don’t have to continue. I’m really sorry,” Raven adds. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

                “I think Raven can assume what happened next. There’s no need to relive it, my friend,” Charles says soothingly, reaching over and placing a hand on Erik’s arm and causing the other man to look down at it curiously. He isn’t used to be physically comforted—or comforted at all, for that matter.

                The conversation tapers off for a long, tense moment until an irate voice from behind shouts, “Hey, Eisenhardt, I’ve been looking for you for the past hour! I’m paying you to work, not to sit and socialize!” All three heads whip around to face the speaker, Raven looking alarmed and Erik exasperated. Charles senses that the man’s about to say something that will only worsen the situation and quickly intervenes.

Out of the corner of his eye, Erik sees Charles raise to fingers to his left temple and concentrate his gaze on the café owner. In the blink of an eye, the man goes from beyond himself with anger at Erik’s poor work ethics to unnaturally calm. The owner blinks, appearing to have lost his train of thought. “I’m sorry, I thought…I wasn’t paying attention to the time. Sorry for interrupting you all.” He gives a little bow, then turns around and heads back inside.

Both Raven and Erik look over at Charles expectantly. “I made him think your shift was over already. He won’t be bothering you again.”

Erik is quite impressed at the show of power and grateful for the intervention, but all he can manage is a curt “Thank you.”

Charles sips his tea and Raven takes the opportunity to claim the glass of water Charles also received but had ignored entirely. Erik entertains himself for a little by discretely bending the prongs of his fork.

  The silence between them grows stifling, however, and Erik is curious to know more about Charles and Raven’s powers after sharing a story about his. Averting his gaze away from his utensils, the nineteen-year-old looks up at Raven and manages a small smile. “When did you discover yours? Your powers, I mean.”

                She beams back at him, looking more than happy for the change in subject in the conversation. Having only told this story once to Charles, Raven is eager to tell someone else about it. “Oh, I was six and at home playing with a friend while our moms sat at the table drinking iced tea. We were doing some sort of role-playing thing. I can’t remember exactly what the situation we’d made up was, but anyway…”

                Charles watches fondly as she animatedly tells Erik all about it. Sipping his tea, he is content to sit back and listen until he hears her say his name. She is grinning at him, eyes bright and wistful as she remembers that fateful encounter that changed both their lives.

                “The circumstances that brought me to him were awful, but I can’t imagine having found anyone as wonderful as Charles. I’m really lucky.” She leans over toward Charles and wraps herself around his arm, resting her head on his shoulder and radiating adoration.

                Charles, to the others’ amusement, is blushing. “Raven, please.”

                _“Just shut up and take the compliment, Charles. God, you’re too modest for your own good, I swear,”_ Charles hears her think. She’s resisting the urge to swat at him.

                “I am not,” Charles says with a pout, realizing only after he says it that he’s spoken aloud and that she did not. Raven and Erik both look at him, Erik confused because he didn’t hear the comment that provoked Charles’ and Raven mildly concerned. This is a sign that Charles is getting tired and that his powers are slipping.

                Knowing this, Raven gives him a pointed look that Charles knows all too well. Like a five-year-old begging his parents to let him stay up for just a bit longer, Charles looks at her pleadingly. “Please, Raven. Not yet, just a little longer. I’m alright.”

                “Is everything alright?” Erik asks, watching the exchange carefully.

                “No,” Raven says, at the same time Charles says, “Yes.” Erik frowns.

                “ _No,_ it’s not,” Raven says once more, this time with more force behind it and a very stern look in her eyes that is directly solely at Charles. When he glances over at Erik, Charles can see that even this fearsome Nazi-killer looks a bit cowed. “I was thinking something and Charles not only heard it, but responded to it aloud because he thought I’d said it aloud.”

                “Oh.” As new as he is to dealing with telepaths, even he seems to know that that doesn’t bode well.

                “It means he’s getting tired and that we should get going. We’ve got a long trip home.”

                “Oh,” Erik says again, sounding just the slightest bit deflated. Charles senses he is quite disappointed to cut their conversation short. “I have work to do, anyway. Charles, if you’ll meet me here again tomorrow at 9AM sharp?” _Best let them go. She’s young, but that girl is surely a force to be reckoned with._

                Unable to help himself, Charles laughs at the thought he picks up from Erik. “Yes, she is,” he murmurs. Unfortunately, both Raven and Erik have heard him. The metal-bender’s gaze shoots over to him accusingly while Raven just looks ready to grab his arm and drag him home without further preamble. “I’m so sorry,” he says, holding his hands up in an apologetic gesture. Erik thinks he looks a little more horrified with his slip than he needs to be. It makes him wonder how many times Charles must’ve overheard and responded to someone’s thoughts by accident and panicked about trying to maintain control so it didn’t happen again or drive people away.

                “No, it’s alright,” Erik says, doing his best to sound reassuring. He hasn’t had much practice. “You warned me and I can see that you’re worn out from the events of today. Perhaps it’s best if you get going before you upset your sister any further. She seems quite concerned about your safety.”

                Raven glares at Charles. “At least Erik knows I mean business.” Then, looking over at Erik, she adds in a much sweeter tone, “Thank you for understanding, Erik.”

                Erik nods, which she takes as her cue to get up from the table. He rises to follow her at the same time Charles does. Erik, however, does not sway on his feet.

                “Easy there,” he says gently, grabbing Charles’ arm to steady him. _You really don’t know your limits, do you?_ He thinks with wry amusement.

                “No, I really don’t,” Charles retorts with a laugh as he grips the hand Erik has placed on him to ground himself.

                “Alright, it is _definitely_ time to get you home,” Raven announces, taking his other arm and pulling him to her.

                “Do you need help getting him…Did you drive here or take a train?”

                “Train. It’s too long a drive to make for a day trip here. We live in Westchester.”

                Erik hums in understanding. “I wouldn’t mind escorting you to the station, if you like.”

                Raven smiles appreciatively. “That’s very sweet of you, Erik, but there’s no need. I’ve had to drag his stubborn behind home in a worse state than this before. I can handle it.”

                “If you’re sure.”

                “Yeah, it’s alright.”

                “I’m still here, you know,” Charles interjects, seeming a little steadier on his feet now.

                “No one cares, Charles. You just focus on keeping those walls of yours or whatever you call them up,” Raven says, patting his arm. “As long as he’s feeling better tomorrow, he’ll be here.”

                “Yes. At your discretion, of course,” Erik agrees, knowing better than to argue. “ _As much as I want to find those men immediately, I need your help to do it and I can’t have you working with me unless you’re at full capacity,”_ Erik thinks, and this time Charles thinks he might’ve meant for Charles to hear him.

                “That’s right it is,” she answers as she begins to yank Charles away. “It’s been great meeting you, Erik. I hope we see each other again. Or at least that we keep in touch,” she adds, referring to the deal he made with Charles to take some time and consider keeping in touch with them instead of letting this meeting be a one-time thing.

                “Don’t worry, Erik. I’ll be here,” Charles assures him as he hesitantly follows after Raven.

                “We’ll see. Ugh, come on, Charles. Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t passed out yet, you goddamn stubborn idiot.”

                “ _Language,_ Raven!” he admonishes, but his tone is lacking in some of its usual authority. He knows he sounds every bit as fatigued as he feels.

                As he and Raven head down the street, he can hear Erik laughing to himself as he watches their retreat. Through the haze of quickly-approaching sleep on the train ride home, Charles is overwhelmed with excitement to meet with Erik again.                 


	2. Chapter 2

                It took quite a lot of convincing on Charles’ part to get Raven to agree to let him go on this “mission” of sorts solo. She wanted so badly to accompany him, but Charles had insisted it would be far too dangerous. He suggested she stay at home and get some packing done instead. Very begrudgingly, Raven agreed. That was after giving him the warning glare of a lifetime, telling him that she would show no mercy if he came home bloodied, with a limb missing, or with the pain of every migraine-suffering resident of New York pounding in his head. It was a lie, of course, because Raven would surely fuss over him to no end if he came home with even a bruised knee from a swinging door or bumping into the edge of a table.

                Neither he nor Raven is a morning person, and even so Charles typically wakes before Raven does. This morning, however, Raven was already waiting for him downstairs and cooking breakfast. When he stared at her from the kitchen doorway and asked what she was doing, she said, “Isn’t it obvious, Captain Brainiac? I’m making breakfast.”

                “You _never_ cook,” was Charles’ awe-laden response, blinking again like he expected the sight to disappear like a desert mirage.

                “Today’s a special occasion,” Raven had replied as she shoveled scrambled eggs out of the pan and onto one of two plates.

                _“You really didn’t need to—“ Charles begins, but Raven cuts him off as she waves the grease-covered spatula at him with a pointed look that bares no room for argument._

_“If you’re going to go Nazi hunting, you should do it on a full stomach and a good night’s rest.”_

_The ridiculousness of that sentence is not lost on Charles, who gives an uncharacteristically amused snort and shakes his head. “I can’t even believe I agreed to help Erik in the first place.”_

_“Well you did say it was to stop Erik from killing those Nazis.”_

_“That I did,” Charles nods slowly._

_“And Erik also had you glued to a wall with a knife at your throat,” she adds, a disapproving note to her voice to make clear once again to Charles that his stupidity which nearly costed him his life was an occurrence that should not be repeated again on pain of death. “I think most of us would say anything to get out of being fileted like a fish in an alley.”_

_“True enough.” Charles has enough sense to look penitent. It mollifies Raven slightly. “Thank you for the lovely imagery, by the way,” he deadpans._

_“You’re welcome. Maybe it’ll stick with you and you’ll keep it in mind next time you try to chase after homicidal Holocaust victims?” She tilts her head to the side and gives him a look, looking vainly hopeful that he might do so, but she knows him better than that. Poor self-preservation skills and all that. “But for today, let’s try to stay off of the bad side of the metal-manipulating 19-year-old, shall we, Charles?” She says with extreme exasperation._

_“Of course, darling,” Charles says, pecking her on the cheek and petting her hair affectionately as he takes his plate from her. She swats him away with the spatula._

_“Go eat, you idiot,” she chides lovingly._

_When he heads out the door not too much later, he smiles when he hears her call after him, “And don’t do anything too stupid!” Because they both know he’ll probably do something that could be considered at least moderately stupid. “I’m not dragging you upstairs and off to bed again if you come home all…” an image of him from yesterday flashes across his mind, courtesy of Raven. “…You know.”_

_“Yes, Raven,” he obligingly calls back to her, knowing that although he has no intentions of coming home looking anything worse than he did yesterday or even close to that that if he does, Raven will forget all grudges and come to his aid in an instant._

All yesterday and all this morning, Raven’s apprehension had only grown. As he walks from the train station to the café, the more Charles thinks about it the more apprehensive he begins to feel, as well. Suddenly, now that it is far beyond the point of backing out, his mind is telling him that this is a terrible idea and that he should turn around.

It is a terrible idea because he has never used his telepathy like this before, let alone in one of the most populated cities in the world. It is a terrible idea because chasing two former Nazi soldiers across New York can surely only lead to trouble. It is a terrible idea most especially because Erik Lehnsherr is an unpredictable, violent emotional powder keg who promised the telepath no violence but, honestly, he doesn’t think Erik has the greatest promise-keeping track record.

He isn’t looking forward to being a part of this operation to corner and interrogate two men who are trying to move on with their lives and make up for their grievous mistakes, but the alternative is to leave Erik to his devices. It’s not a pleasant alternative, seeing as he’s seen what Erik’s methods entail. Regardless of the men’s previous deeds, Charles believes everyone deserves a second chance and he knows that no situation is as black and white as it seems. Perhaps he can teach Erik a bit about how to understand that grey area a little better.

The humming of the many minds around him keeps Charles preoccupied for most of his journey from the train station to the café. As he walks, he practices keeping his shielding up to block out the thousands of other minds around him while trying to hone in on one mind specifically. He picks a topic to search minds for and once he finds it, he reads the other person’s mind enough to figure out where in the city they’re located.

Charles has done this kind of tracking back home in the mansion in Westchester plenty, and it’s quite easy, but he’s never tried it in New York or with the minds of complete strangers. Raven’s mind, his mother’s, Kurt’s, and Cain’s he knew and could sense with ease. The woman on 60th and Madison Ave was much, much harder to pick out, and luckily for Charles her thoughts were almost exclusively focused on the elephants at the Central Park Zoo because they were what her two daughters wanted to see the most today on their family trip.

He manages to succeed once more after the woman on Madison before he decides to pull back and save the rest of his energy. Charles has just spotted the blue and crème colored sign swinging above the café when a hand unexpectedly wraps around his arm and tugs him into the narrow alleyway he’s passing. He lets out a cry of surprise that is most certainly not a squawk before the person who grabbed him slaps a hand over his mouth as they press him up against the wall.

“Calm down, it’s just me, Charles,” a familiarly gruff voice says, and that’s when the steely gaze of Erik Lehnsherr meets Charles’ eyes. The older boy is several inches taller, the height difference only further exaggerated by the lack of distance between them and the way Erik’s more muscular form looms over the younger man.

                He’s still breathing hard when Erik at last removes his hand and steps back, allowing Charles some space to himself and room to breathe. “Bloody hell, Erik, you can’t do that! You scared me half to death!” Charles quietly hisses now that he has the freedom to speak.

                The nineteen-year-old raises an eyebrow at him. “I thought you were a telepath. You didn’t see that coming?”

                A surge of annoyance rises up within him, but Charles suppresses it and answers calmly, albeit a little irritably, “No, I was a tad preoccupied.” It isn’t a lie, but the truth of it really is that he only knows how to accidentally tune in and how to purposefully tune out. The practice he had on his way here is the only practice he’s ever really had. After what happened with Kurt and Cain, Charles is too afraid to really delve into his powers again. To practice them would involve delving into the minds of others, and to do that would mean possibly hurting someone else. He doesn’t want to risk it.

So Charles limits himself to learning how to tune out the world—because he doesn’t want a repeat of the “Orchestra Incident”—and telepathically communicating with Raven sometimes. He tries to limit the telepathic communication, however, because Raven isn’t a very big fan of it.

                “You should work on that. Could save your life,” Erik notes lightly, and Charles narrows his eyes at him.

                “I’ll keep that in mind,” Charles mutters, stepping away from the wall and heading toward the main street. He expects Erik to follow, but he doesn’t expect him to grab Charles’ arm and pull him back into the alley.

                “Those men from yesterday,” Erik begins as he spins Charles around to face him, “They were headed in this direction yesterday. They must be residing somewhere this way in a hotel or in a house they’ve rented. Can you locate them?”

                Charles is momentarily flabbergasted at being put to the test so soon, but nods slowly. “I should be able to, yes.” With that, he raises his index finger and middle finger to his temple and closes his eyes. He takes a deep breath, and when he slowly lets out all the air in his lungs, he tries to let his guard in so the thoughts of the city around him can rush in. Building his walls took him five years, and even now they’re not perfect. He’s never tried so purposefully to bring them down and to hone his skill like this. With Erik watching, he’s even more nervous than he thought he’d be. But he is determined.

                It’s strange to think about the fact that yesterday he was trying to block these men’s thoughts out and now he’s scanning the minds of half of New York specifically to find them. At least he’s more familiar with them than he was with the woman on 60th and Madison.

                As he scans street by street, the volume of the cacophony quickly escalates until it’s pounding in Charles’ head and he is barely aware of himself standing in an alley beside a 19-year-old Holocaust survivor. All he thinks—that _they_ think, but their thoughts are so invasive that they feel like they’re his own—is _Fred’sdrinkingproblemisgettingworse—Ruthwassoutfityesterday—HonestlywhatwasBeneventhinking?—Notsureaboutthisnewjobyet—Differentsincethewar—_

_“Charles? Charles, whatever is the matter with you?”_

_“What if you got too overwhelmed…passed out or just started clutching your head, screaming?”_

_“CHARLES.”_

_“—Boy’s got problems, Sharon—”_

_“—Beyond my help, ma’am. I’m sorry—”_

**_“CHARLES.”_ **

_“How could I just stand still and just watch it all happen? Myfault. It’sallmyfault. Somanydead…”_

_“ **CHARLES!”**_

Charles’ eyes snap open to find Erik Lehnsherr’s face inches away from his, his eyes wide and—dare he say it—panicked. It takes him far longer than it should for him to realize that Erik has both hands gripped around either of his shoulders, shaking them to try to snap Charles out of whatever trance he’d been in.

“Are you with me again, Charles?” Erik asks, tone softening. He’s so actually so worried that it’s not only showing in his eyes, but in his thoughts. For a moment, before Erik can reel in his emotions like he’s been practicing for over five years, Charles can hear him projecting his concerned thoughts out to him without realizing it.

The telepath blinks owlishly, slowly coming back to himself. Then he remembers what he heard right before Erik brought him back to their spot in the alley a block from the café. Charles’ gaze snaps down the alley and then back at Erik. “Airport. He’s headed to the airport.”

Erik arches a thick, dark brow at him. “Don’t you mean they?”

He shakes his head. “They’re not with each other at the moment. Leopold—the younger, blond one—left this morning before the other one woke up.”

“You didn’t get where they were staying?” Erik asks, sounding irritated and impatient.

Charles frowns at him. “No, you interrupted before I could get anything else.”

Erik pouts, looking a little more like a young man barely beyond his teenage years and less like a traumatized, vengeance-seeking man. “I interrupted because you looked like you were going to pass out. And you were muttering nonsense.”

“Oh,” Charles deadpans very quietly, looking spooked. A trip to the philharmonic gone wrong comes to the forefront of his mind. A slip like this hasn’t happened in ages. Clearly he still has a long way to go in his self-training. He clears his throat, trying to recover his composure. “I may not know where the other is or where they were staying, but I know what train Leopold is on and I think I know where I can head him off at. Come on.” He taps Erik’s shoulder as an indication that they get going before he takes off into a run towards the main street.

When he reaches the nearest crosswalk his foot hasn’t even gotten the chance to hit the pavement before Erik grabs his arm and pulls him back. He looks back, confused, before Erik nods to his left where an uninhabited, off-duty taxi cab is parked. The older boy gives Charles a knowing look before he waves his free hand, unlocking the doors of the vehicle.

Charles’ eyes widen. “No. No, absolutely not.” He’s shaking his head vehemently in protest, but Erik continues to pull him towards the cab. “Erik, we are _not_ stealing a cab!”

“You really love to take all the fun out of things, don’t you, Charles?” Erik says with a roll of his eyes and a sigh. His hand is still wrapped tight around Charles’ arm, dragging him along as he continues his protests. “It’s our fastest option. No heading off, we’ll meet him right where he plans to go. Besides, I’ll be sure to leave it exactly the way we found it, just not in the _place_ we found it.”

“This is entirely against my moral code!”

“Duly noted. If it makes you feel better, you can say I forced you to do it.” With that, he opens the passenger door with his power.

“Says the man cavorting with a _telepath,_ ” he deadpans, but the quip falls short of its impact when Erik puts a hand on the small of his back and guides him to the door. Charles turns around to protest even as he feels the heat rise in his cheeks. “Erik, I _really_ do protest—”

“And I have acknowledged your protest but given that you’re being a Spaßverderber, I’ve elected to ignore said protest. Now get in the taxi,” Erik orders, not so subtly placing one hand on the frame of the open door and the other on the side of the taxi so Charles is boxed in.

 _I wouldn’t mind being in this position so much if it were in different circumstances,_ the Brit thinks sourly as he reluctantly acquiesces and gets in. Erik shuts the door once he’s in and walks around to the other side. With a wave of his hand, the cab is on and running, pulling out of its parking spot and speeding off to the airport.

As they leave, Charles puts two fingers to his temple and reaches out to find the owner of the cab. It takes him a long moment, but at last he finds a mind with the memory of shutting a familiar cab door and locking the doors as he heads into the nearest café for a cup of coffee. Carefully, he plants in the man’s mind a very strong urge to go to the airport when he finishes his coffee.

When they reach the airport, Charles pulls out his wallet and leaves $100 for the poor man whose cab they stole, hoping it’s compensation enough for all the trouble they caused him.

“It must be nice to be able to just throw money around like that,” Erik mutters with a cynicism that is not lost on the telepath, who frowns back at him in response.

“I don’t throw it around, I’m just compensating the man for taking his cab, wasting his gas, and losing him time that he could’ve spent making his own money.”

“I bet you the man doesn’t deserve it.”

“You don’t know that. I like to act upon a similar assumption to the United States Court of Law. Every person is assumed decent in character until proven otherwise.”

 _Sounds like naivety to me,_ Erik thinks to himself with a derisive snort. Charles pretends he doesn’t hear. It’s clear to him at this point that further argument with the older boy would be futile.

“We’re heading to Gate 5C,” he says instead, directing them left when they enter the airport.

Erik walks alongside him in silence as they pass by men and women, couples and families all traveling or returning home or waiting for returning loved ones. It’s bustling with activity and it’s a large place, which means that there’s suddenly quite a lot of voices in one area that are all broadcasting to Charles their excitement, nerves, concerns, and grief amongst other things. One man in his fifties sitting on a bench they walk past is rocking back and forth, his face practically green as he tries and fails to compose himself for his upcoming flight in two hours. Two giggling young children are chasing each other around the seats near their gate to pass the time and exhaust their seemingly unending reserves of energy.

Charles feels hopeful that their chase will soon be over, but nervous about the confrontation to come. But as they reach Gate 5C, they wind up facing a whole new set of problems that require the skills of a telepath that he doesn’t think he has…

…the plane is taking off.

“Stop that plane!” Erik shouts, at who Charles isn’t really sure. “You have to stop that plane!” He sprints up to the desk where a stewardess is staring at him in an alarmed fashion, but not in a way that suggests she hasn’t faced this sort of issue before.

“I’m sorry sir, but there’s no turning the plane around once it’s taken off unless there’s a very serious problem or emergency onboard. I’m afraid you’ll simply have to catch the next plane out,” she tells Erik as he spreads his palms over the counter and leans over her with an intensity that seems to be an ever-present trait of Erik’s.

“You don’t understand, I—” Erik begins irately, but Charles cuts him off, stepping up beside him and setting his elbows on the counter as he addresses the stewardess himself.

“I’m sorry about my friend here. Missing this flight terribly throws off our plans, but we’ll find a way to sort things out. Thank you very much, miss.” He straightens himself and takes Erik’s elbow, gently but firmly pulling the metal-bender away from the counter. “Have a lovely day.”

The stewardess’s expression softens and she gives Charles a rather radiant smile. “You’re welcome, dear. I hope it all works out. I’m sorry I can’t do more for you.”

“That’s terribly alright. You’ve done enough, thank you.” He responds with his own ingratiating smile as he turns around and continues to lead Erik away.

“ _Verdammt_!” Erik exclaims angrily, clenching his hands into tight, white-knuckled firsts. The Westchester teen flinches as he pounds both fists against the nearest wall as soon as they turn the corner and land in a less densely populated hallway.

Charles heaves a sigh and runs a hand through his hair. He leans against the opposite wall and looks down both ends of the hallway, wondering what Erik’s plan is now that one of the men has gotten away. He supposes he should be glad right now that he doesn’t have to worry so much about Erik hurting anyone, but there’s still Leopold’s partner to consider. He figures he should help Erik find him and be present when he interrogates the man so he can keep the metal-bender out of control. Make sure nobody dies, since Erik seems more than prepared to allow someone to.

“Erik, Leopold may be gone, but we could still find his—” He gets distracted mid-sentence, his eyes caught by a sight further down the hallway.

The metal-bender, assuming that Charles has gone into a telepathy-induced trance again, makes a perturbed grunt of frustration. “Mein Gott, not again,” he says, with what Charles can only assume is a roll of his eyes, but he isn’t looking at Erik.

No, Charles is looking at the two very familiar men standing and deliberating quietly in German over in the corner further down the hall. “Erik…”

“Ah, you’re still with us then.”

“Erik, _look,_ ” he says, nodding his head in the direction of Leopold and his partner, Heinrich.

“That’s them,” Erik whispers, amazed to see them both when he just witnessed a plane Leopold was set on taking set off into the air moments ago.

“Heinrich headed him off before we did,” Charles answers, stating the obvious. It looks like Heinrich is still trying to convince Leopold to stay.

“We’re following them,” Erik announces with finality. They watch as Heinrich embraces his friend, seeming to have done his job of convincing Leopold to stay. Leopold claps his friend on the shoulder, and the two begin to leave. Charles pushes away from the wall and falls in stride beside Erik as they follow after.

When Charles sees them hopping into a taxi, he quickly turns to address Erik, pointing a finger at him. “Don’t even think about it. We’re _paying_ for one this time.”

The brown-haired young man raises his hands in surrender and shakes his head. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Charles,” he says, sounding far too innocent to be sincere. The telepath narrows his eyes at him, then points them in the direction of a waiting cab.

“Follow that cab, please,” Charles instructs the driver once they both hop in, pointing to the Germans’ cab up ahead. The man nods as he joins the traffic in the street.

They tail the Germans’ cab for six or seven blocks by Charles’ count before the cabbie suddenly slams on the breaks, jarring the pair of them. Charles goes careening forward, but Erik’s arm juts out in front of him and catches him before he can be thrown completely to the floor of the cab.

“Thanks,” Charles grunts as he takes a moment to regain his balance, glancing down at Erik’s large hand splayed across his chest and then back up at Erik. “It seems they’ve caught on our following them,” he says breathlessly.

“Yes, they have,” Erik replies curtly, his gaze shifting to the window. Charles’ eyes follow and widen when he sees two familiar figures sprinting down the street. “Los gehts, Charles!”

Without further hesitation, the older boy flings open his door and sprints after them.

Charles fumbles for his wallet as he slides across the backseat and out the door, shutting more harshly than he intends in his haste. He shoves a wad of bills through the window at the driver—much less politely than he would ever do in normal circumstances, regardless of how shifty the character driving the taxi may be in this particular circumstance—and follows after Erik as quickly as he can.

“So bloody grateful I do track,” he breathlessly mutters to himself as he barrels past speeding cars and down the street, leaving a very perplexed but gratified—because Charles knows he must’ve given the man more money than he was owed—cabbie in his wake. He’s not too far behind Erik now.

He turns a corner and finds himself in a commercial area full of restaurants and hotels and bars. He also finds the metal-bender standing in the middle of the street, looking terribly frustrated.

“ _Scheiße!”_ he hisses, his voice quivering with anger. “We lost them again!”

Charles, feeling a tad guilty even if he doesn’t have a reason to, looks around to discover the obvious: the ex-Nazis are nowhere to be seen. “Maybe not. I can try to find them,” he volunteers a bit warily. He’s not even sure he can, but he feels the need to try. For Erik or for himself, he can’t tell.

“Do it,” Erik commands, eyes alight with a determination the likes of which the telepath has never seen before.

Silently he nods and closes his eyes to concentrate. He thinks of Leopold and the thread he’s now connected between himself and the German. Now that he’s been in the man’s head already, it turns out to be far easier to locate him this time around even amongst all of the people around. As he opens his eyes and thinks about it, he decides it’s not much different from how he uses his telepathy to find Raven or his mother or anyone else in the household.

“The hotel down this way,” he tells Erik, pointing down the road to the left.

They sprint to the doors and stroll as nonchalantly to the elevator. The doors shut in front of them a moment later and Charles silently presses the button for the 8th floor. Erik glances over at him, barely masking his pride in Charles’ measure of control over his powers. It’s only then that the telepath realizes how innately he just performed this telepathic task. He hardly even realized he was doing it!

As the elevator quietly pings for every floor it rises, Charles falters for a moment, his mouth opening and shutting again before he manages to compose himself. Erik quietly chuckles beside him.

The next time the elevator pings is louder and Charles feels it grind to a halt. The doors open and the pair exit, slowly walking down the hall and passing by the numbered rooms. This time, he doesn’t even need his telepathy to determine their location; he can hear their conversation through the door.

And of course that means Erik can, too. “They’re getting ready to flee again,” Erik says, blood boiling at the very thought of these men getting away from him.

Charles lays a hand on his shoulder and gives him a hard look. “We’re not going to hurt them, just get information from them. You promised, remember that.”

Erik heaves out an impatient sigh and rolls his eyes. “I’ll do what I can,” he concedes with great reluctance. With that, he raises a hand and unlocks the door.

 In the moment that it takes the young telepath to blink, the door is flung open and the Germans are pinned to the wall by any their watches, tie pins, cufflinks, and belt buckles. That doesn’t seem to do it for Erik, however, who decides to summon parts of the silver bedframe and use them to wrap around the men’s wrists and root themselves in the wall so an escape is even more impossible.

                “Schreien oder um Hilfe rufen, und ich werde sie tot am Boden in weniger als einem Augenblick,” Erik growls, swiftly crossing the room in just a few wide strides to stand right before them.

                “No,” Charles growls back, glaring at Erik, “he won’t. No one’s killing anyone.” The metal-bender raises a brow at him in surprise, the silent question of ‘you speak German?’ clear enough in his gaze that Charles doesn’t need to hear him think the question.  He doesn’t bother with an answer. He can explain how his telepathy assists him in his acquisition of languages later. Instead, he directs his attention to the Germans, softening his tone. “We just want some information from you and you can be on your way. We’d greatly appreciate your full cooperation.”

                Erik scoffs, thinking about how ridiculously polite Charles is for a man involved in jumping a pair of men in their hotel room and interrogating them. These men don’t deserve to be treated with any kind of dignity, according to Erik. “I’m going to ask you several questions, but I would warn you that it would be quite ill-advised to lie. My friend here will be able to tell if you are.”

                The Germans give Charles a very dubious look even as they shake like leaves against the blue floral wallpaper. With an infinite amount of aplomb—and far more than any seventeen year old should possess—Charles shakes his head. “Sorry, he’s telling the truth on that one. I really can tell if you’re lying. Best not waste anyone here’s time by doing so, don’t you think?”

                He can faintly hear Erik thinking _“Why the hell does he sound so apologetic? These men are absolute Scheißkerle,”_ as he finishes speaking.

                The fearful men weakly nod in response to Charles’ question, not entirely convinced of what Charles can do but scared enough of Erik to go along with it.

                “Erik,” Charles then prompts, allowing the taller and older of them to take charge of the interrogation.

                Erik leers at them as he asks his first question. “You were soldiers in the war, were you not?” The two wordlessly nod their heads. One looks shamefully down at his oxfords like he wishes he could forget his entire part in the war. Erik doesn’t care, of course. Guilty is guilty and there is no forgiveness. “Stationed at Auschwitz?” Again, the men nod. “Your names?”

                “Franz Schiller,” says the one on the left. He has dirty blond hair, brown eyes, and tan skin like he’s spent a lot of time somewhere warm and sunny. This would be the Leopold fellow that Charles mentioned to Erik.

                “Wolfgang Brücke.” The one of the right has dark hair that is starting to go grey and thin out towards the front. _He’s going bald,_ Charles thinks to himself with slight horror. _God, I can’t imagine. I’d hate to go bald. The man’s not even 40 yet!_ His eyes are an icy blue, which is an odd contrast to his sun-warmed skin. He, too, has clearly lived abroad awhile somewhere close to the equator. Argentina or Brazil, perhaps. Charles heard many Nazis fled there after the fall of their regime.

                Charles sighs. “Either I’m a bloody awful mind-reader, or I pronounce the names Leopold and Heinrich much differently than you two do.”

                Both veterans look absolutely gob smacked.  Charles very nearly breaks out into a fit of laughter, but he gets the sense that Erik would very much disapprove.

                “How the hell—?” Heinrich, aka ‘Wolfgang’, chokes out.

                “I did tell you I had my ways,” the telepath tells them with a wry smile.

                “If you knew our names already, then why did you bother asking us for them?” Leopold asks.

                “To make a point that if you don’t willingly give us the information we need, I’ll have to resort to pulling it out of you, do you understand?”

                “You mean torture us?” Leopold murmurs, eyes wide and scared.

                “No, heavens no. Erik would certainly like to, but I won’t stand for that sort of thing. No, like I said, I simply mean that I have a few tricks that would be guaranteed to give us the information we need if you’re not willing to give it to us of your own volition, and I personally would like to do this as easily and least invasively as possible.”

                “This is wasting my time, Charles,” Erik grumbles, voice low and impatient. He then addresses the Germans once more. “Now that you see there’s little point in trying to lie, I expect the rest of your answers to be more truthful. Now, did you know Klaus Schmidt during your time at Auschwitz?”

                A long moment of silence passes. They’re both waring with themselves whether or not to answer. Finally, Leopold looks over at his friend with a look that says he’s decided to answer.

                “Yes, we knew him. Only met him once or twice. We weren’t part of his…project within the camp.” He’s picking his words very carefully, concerned that Erik will deem them the wrong thing to say and immediately have at him. Charles wants to promise him that he will do what he can to prevent Erik from harming him.

                “Project?” Erik parrots, a dangerous edge to his voice and an absolutely murderous gleam in his eyes.

                “Oh dear,” Charles murmurs.

                “Oh God, you were at Auschwitz! You were one of the people he experimented on!” Leopold makes the connection moments before his partner does. He looks much more sickened by the thought of meeting one of Schmidt’s victims than Heinrich, however.

Erik, Charles is dismayed to find, revels in their shock and horror and turns his arm over, rolling up his sleeve to expose the six digits forever etched into his skin. “Yes, I was.”

“ _Mein Gott,_ I’m so sorry!” Leopold can’t stop staring at the tattoo, but Heinrich has raised his eyes to meet Erik’s.

“Before you kill us, I think perhaps you would be interested to know something, Jew.”

Erik snarls, but says nothing. He waits silently for Heinrich to continue.

“Schmidt’s not Schmidt anymore. He changed his name. Goes by Shaw now.”

“That’s right, Sebastian Shaw,” Leopold shakily chimes in. “While I was in Argentina there were rumors about him from other soldiers who had fled there. Others from Auschwitz.”

Erik’s eyes widen, and he’s absolutely taken aback by this new information.

“So he’s in Argentina?” Charles asks.

Heinrich laughs and shakes his head. “He hardly stays anywhere for long, from what we understand. Very difficult man to track.”

“He’s not going to stay hidden from me for long,” Erik assures him.

“Is he now? You’re just a kid,” Heinrich sneers. “What do you know about tracking anyone? About taking anyone down? Go back home to your parents, little Jew, if you still have any.”

Erik surges forward, but Charles intervenes, pulling him away even as Heinrich barks out a laugh. Charles is not able to intervene, however, when Erik uses his ability to retrieve a metal wire from his pocket and wrap it around Heinrich’s neck. The German veteran’s laughter abruptly stops, replaced by sputtering coughs and gagging sounds. With his hands restrained, he can’t even try to pull the wire away.

“Erik, STOP IT!” Charles shouts, yanking at the metal-bender’s outstretched arm. Erik’s arm doesn’t budge at first, but a second later his arm drops and the wire falls to the ground. Charles steps back, surprised, and Erik looks at him with an equal look of shock on his face.

“You just—”

“Oh God, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to!” Charles says, cutting him off. His voice is high and quick with panic.

“Don’t do it again,” Erik warns him, giving him an icy look.

“Never,” Charles quietly replies.

“Wait, your name’s Erik, as in Erik Lehnsherr?” Leopold speaks up after a moment of tense silence.

Erik’s attention snaps to him. “How do you know my name?”

“You’re the boy they told us about. The one Schmidt experimented with. Whose mother he…”

“Don’t you dare.” Just as Charles thinks Erik’s voice can’t get any darker and more frightening, the man astounds him with a new level of hatred and vitriol to him that makes the telepath’s own blood curdle.

“The men who brought her in never came back out,” Leopold murmurs fearfully.

“And neither did _she_ ,” Erik hisses before lunging at him. Charles grasps the back of his shirt, but Erik is frankly much bigger, much stronger, and much much much more determined. One of his hands flies up to Leopold’s throat. “How dare you talk about her—about _me_ —like you _know_ me and feel pity for me. If you’d felt any pity at all, you would’ve intervened. You would’ve tried to shut that camp down long before it was ever liberated.”

“Erik!” Charles calls from behind him, but the older boy is so lost in his anger and thirst for vengeance that he cannot hear the telepath.

“Please,” Leopold wheezes desperately.

“You’re no better than anyone else and you can’t assuage your guilt so easily,” Erik continues.

“Let him go, Erik, _please!_ Whether you kill this man or not, your past will remain the same and there’s no changing that!” Charles pleads.

“Your hands are covered in the blood of my people and you will never wash them clean,” Erik tells the man, leaning in extra close and staring him down with a steely-eyed gaze. “You’ll never—”

“ _Stop_ ,” Leopold wheezes, but it sounds less like a plea and more like a command. Charles only realizes a second later when Erik’s hand drops, the makeshift restraints fall away, and the men are free that it actually _is_ one _._

Leopold catches Erik’s elbow as he lowers his arm, which is somewhat strange to Charles. He would’ve thought Leopold would want to be as far away from Erik as possible and certainly would not want to have any further physical contact. “Like your friend here said earlier, no one’s killing anyone today,” Leopold says, his voice and limbs still quivering. “I won’t let you do that.”

“And neither will I,” Charles chimes in, baffled by the twist in events but determined to regain control of the situation. “Let Erik go and you can leave. We won’t harm you and we won’t follow you. You have my word.”

“Sorry if this comes out a bit blunt, but frankly that doesn’t mean shit to me,” Heinrich grumbles. “I don’t trust that Jew any further than I could throw him.”

                Charles sees Leopold’s grip on Erik’s elbow tighten. “I’m sorry, but your word isn’t enough. I’m not chancing it with him,” Leopold says, nodding over at Erik, who isn’t even struggling against his hold although he can practically feel the anger and frustration radiating off of him. It’s eerie. Charles has never known anyone else with abilities like his, let alone seen them in play.

                “Charles, you’re stronger than him,” Erik grits out, having managed to fight through Leopold’s hold on him enough to get that out. _Give me back control, I know you can do it,_ is the unspoken request.

                His breath quickens and his eyes widen, but Charles tries his best to appear calm. He’s shaking his head, trying to clear it as it suddenly becomes clouded by the memory of a husky voice shouting insults at him as he receives blow after blow after blow. He’s thinking that he’s had enough and he needs to lash out instinctively in the only way he knows how to defend himself. He just wants to stop it, but he’s digging through the memories, collecting all the threads that tie them together, and cutting them all at once before he even knows what he’s doing…

                What irreparable damage he had caused.

                “I can’t,” he says, quietly and shakily when he means to say it much more confidently.

                Erik’s eyebrows crinkle in confusion and frustration. _What do you mean you can’t? Just do it!_

                “Enough of this, Leopold,” Heinrich says tersely. “He’s going to break free of you soon if you don’t do something.”

                “I’m sorry, I just don’t trust you. And certainly not him. We just want to live the rest of our lives in peace, you know?” Leopold says, addressing Charles again.

                “Yes, I understand. I’m trying to help—” He doesn’t at all expect to be socked in the face before he can finish, and certainly not by Erik. The blow knocks Charles back, and the second one Erik delivers to his stomach has him bent over and his knees wobbling. He can barely suck in a breath, but it doesn’t make any difference to Erik, who picks him up off the ground and shoves him up against the wall. In his periphery, Charles can see Leopold lingering just behind the metal-bender, a hand on his shoulder as though guiding him along.

                _He’s a touch telepath,_ Charles thinks distantly as Erik’s fist connects with his left cheek once more. Charles’ head knocks painfully against the wall, jarring his thoughts and making him think twice about attempting to fight any kind of telepathic battle for control of Erik’s mind. He’s too afraid of the harm he could cause Erik. He’s seen what he can do, after all, without even trying to.

                “Leave us be, boys. You have the information you need,” Leopold says as Erik wraps a hand around Charles’ throat. Instinctively, Charles grabs onto his wrists and tries to pry them away. It’s the most he can do to try to help himself without harming Erik and getting inside his head.

                The world is closing in on him, though, with blackness curling around the periphery of his vision and slowly spiraling inward. He can’t hear himself breathing, even wheezing in an attempt to force air into his lungs. Hell, he isn’t even sure he’s getting any air into his lungs at all anymore. All he can hear and all he knows right now is a ringing in his ears that grows louder with the approaching darkness that is slowly curling up around him.

                “Let me take care of this one,” Heinrich gleefully announces to his partner. Charles’ mind and his eyes are so heavy with sleep, which seems like such a blessedly wonderful idea right at the moment, that he can’t be bothered to decipher what that means right now. He’s not even sure he heard the man right since everything is buzzing and Erik’s hand is still clenched around his throat. All he sees are shadows, one lowering an arm and stepping back as the other steps forward.

                He thinks he sees something long and heavy gripped in someone’s hands as they pull back and take a swing at the back of Erik’s head, and that’s the last thing Charles sees before the black envelopes his vision and claims his mind completely.

\---

Charles wakes up with a viscously pounding headache. He groans, bringing a hand up to cradle his aching head just as he feels the ground beneath him slowly rise and fall and then, with a gasp, it— _Erik_ jolts awake, inadvertently shoving Charles off of him and onto the _actual_ ground.

The seventeen-year-old blinks and then glances over at the metal-bender, burning with embarrassment and—well, he’s just going to try to ignore that _other_ feeling. “I was on top of you? Oh, my friend, I’m so sorry!” he stammers. Not that it’s even really his fault. He _had_ passed out.

“Those bastards!” is Erik’s only response as he picks himself up off the ground and spins around, surveying the empty hotel room. Finally his eyes land on Charles, who’s only just getting himself into a sitting position and still trying in vain to alleviate the pain in his head by massaging his temples. It’s a habit at this point given the frequency with which he gets headaches. “You need to try and find them again. We can’t let them get away!”

The younger man lowers his hands and slowly gets to his feet. “Erik, no. We have all the information we need from them and I don’t know how long we’ve been out for, but I’m betting they’ve made it far enough away from us by now. I’m sorry, my friend, but my abilities can only reach so far.”

Erik lets out a rather feral-sounding growl and stalks off, flinging open the door with his powers as he makes a swift exit.

Charles stumbles after him, calling his name and pleading with him to stop. “Tell me you’re not still going after them!”

“It’s none of your business,” Erik spits back over his shoulder. “Leave. You’ve helped me in my search for the man I’m after and succeeded in ensuring I don’t kill those men, so you can leave now. Go back to Raven.”

“Erik, I—What about what I asked you to consider yesterday? What about keeping in touch with Raven and me?” That, at last, gets a response from Erik. The older teen stops and turns around to face him as Charles closes the distance between them. “We should stick together, people like us.”

“I told you yesterday Charles that I’m on a mission. I’m not giving it up now.”

“I’m not asking you to give it up for Raven and me, I’m just asking that we don’t let this be the first and final time we cross paths with one another,” Charles pleads. “Perhaps we can help you.”

“You seem to have forgotten that I hunt and kill Nazis for a living. I don’t think it’s the kind of life you, and especially Raven, are fit for.”

The telepath frowns. Ah, yes. Charles doesn’t like bearing the knowledge that this new friend of his has killed and plans to continue to kill. If only he could stop Erik… “Right. But we don’t have to join you on your crusade just like you don’t have to stay here. Plenty of people live hundreds of miles away from each other and still manage to stay in touch. I’m sure we could manage it, as well. Even apart, we could still be of some use to each other, at any rate. Let me find a piece of paper and a pen. I’ll write down our address so you can write to us. I’d ask you to share yours, but I suspect you don’t have any sort of permanent address.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“Let me grab a pen and some stationery from the room. I’m sure there’s some available there. I’ll be right back!” Charles spins back in the direction of the room and dashes off. Inside the room, he pulls open the nightstand drawer and finds a Holy Bible and, thankfully, a pen. But no stationery. Across from the bed, however, is a dresser that is clear aside from a dingy old lamp and the pad of stationery that he had been hoping to find.

“Aha!” he triumphantly cries before racing back out into the hallway.

“We’re in luck, my friend—“ He starts to say, only to realize he is talking to an empty hallway. His heart sinks in his chest, suddenly feeling very cold and hard and heavy. With a sigh, he tosses the pad and pen carelessly at the end table halfway down the hall, not even bothering to check if the items actually landed on it, and makes his way to the elevator. He jabs the down button a little more forcefully than necessary and waits sullenly for it to arrive, the pain of every bruise he’s earned today courtesy of Erik now beginning to bear down on him all at once. A mere moment ago he’d been racing down the hall and now he feels like someone has hollowed him out and filled him with lead to weigh him down.

Finally he had managed to find someone like himself and Raven. Finally he had seen that they were not alone. Together perhaps the three of them could’ve discovered more people like themselves; they could’ve discovered more about why they were different; they could’ve helped each other better control their abilities; they could’ve—well, the possibilities were endless! Charles’ heart had raced at the thought of what they could achieve together. And it would have been _so_ wonderful to know someone else like himself and Raven. Someone who was different.

Raven had tried to tell him this might happen. She told him that Erik reminded her of who she was before she met Charles, which meant that Erik had a very hard time trusting people and that he was convinced he was better off alone. Charles had hoped that the opportunity to make friends with people like himself would have convinced Erik to drop his mission, but Raven had never been convinced for a moment that it would be motivation enough for the nineteen-year-old.

For a fifteen-year-old, she really was quite intuitive. For years she’s insisted she isn’t bright like Charles, and she’s right. She’s bright in a completely different way. Perhaps she’s not as academically inclined as Charles, but she is very perceptive and insightful when it comes to people. The telepath should’ve listened to her better when she said he was too optimistic for his own good. Erik’s disappearance wouldn’t hurt so much if he had.

As the elevator doors open up to the lobby, Charles steps out and thinks for a moment that perhaps he could try to track Erik down using his telepathy. He could intercept him and hand him his address and make one last attempt to change his mind— _No,_ he tells himself. He promised Erik today that he would not get in his head again like he had earlier. He has the feeling Erik was perceptive enough, like Raven, to know when someone else was in his head and Charles still lacked the telepathic finesse to make such an intrusion subtle and imperceptible. There would be no chance of convincing Erik to keep in touch or to come back if he got into his head, even if only to track him down.

He had to let Erik go.

That being decided, the trip back to Westchester was a glum one. Raven had seen the car pull up in the driveway and was therefore waiting for him inside as soon as he stepped through the door. She was pulling him into her arms immediately, fussing over him as she takes his coat off and chucks it somewhere (he doesn’t see where) and leads him into the kitchen to make him tea with a, “God, you look awful!”

As soon as she has his shoes off and sitting on the sofa with a warm cup of tea in his hands, she’s begging for all the details. He sits on one end of the sofa with his knees up and his hands, clutching the cup of tea, perched on top of them. He’s facing Raven, who is sitting in a similar pose with a cup of hot chocolate rather than tea (because “tea is gross and for old farts, Charles”).

When he finally tells her of Erik’s abrupt departure, she looks just as disappointed and saddened by the news as he feels.

“I’m so terribly sorry, Raven.”

“I’m sorry, too, Charles,” she says, sitting her hot chocolate down on the coffee table and leaning across the sofa to grab his hand. Charles stares at their linked hands for a moment, glad that he at least still has Raven.

“I can’t stop thinking of what we could’ve achieved together,” he tells her softly. “There has to be more of us out there and working with Erik given his skills we could have possibly found some of them. Just imagine, Raven…”

“I know,” she says, rubbing her thumb across his palm consolingly. “Do you think we’ll ever seen him again?”

Charles considers it for a moment, then looks up to meet her gaze. “I don’t know.  I hope so.” He squeezes her hand and smiles. “But for now, having you in my life is more than enough.”

Raven smiles back at him. “I love you, too, you great big softie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, poor Charles! Don't despair at this sad turn of events, though, there's still one more chapter! And obviously this isn't the last time he sees Erik, despite what our young telepath may think. 
> 
> German Translations:
> 
> Spaßverderber – killjoy/”wet blanket”  
> Verdammt – Dammit  
> Mein Gott - My God  
> Los gehts - Let's go  
> Scheiße - Shit  
> Schreien oder um Hilfe rufen, und ich werde sie tot am Boden in weniger als einem Augenblick - Scream or call for help and I'll have you dead on the ground in less than the blink of an eye.  
> Scheißkerle - bastards/sons of bitches
> 
> Side Note: If you're wondering why there hasn't been any Hebrew in here, it's because I feel like Erik's knowledge of Hebrew is not only a bit limited (more so than his knowledge of English) but also carefully utilized. I feel like he wouldn't use swears even if he knew them because as in-tune with his heritage as he is, I don't think he'd want to use his mother's language like that. And most of the time in this fic, he's kinda angry and frustrated (but when isn't he, really?). I think Erik would treat his sacred language sacredly by not using it to say harsh and hateful things and by using it privately or with only other people who speak the language. I dunno. Just my personal headcanon.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking longer than usual with this! Classes started and I didn't get as much time to write as I'd have liked. Hopefully you enjoy the conclusion here!
> 
> Extra apologies for making you wait so long for the resolution to the last chapter's cliff hanger.

_ Charles, _

_ Thank you for not going after me. After the impromptu training you received on our mission together, I don’t believe it would’ve been beyond your capabilities to find me and try to convince me to stay. I am also thank you for your assistance with my mission. I know you do not approve of my methods and my need for revenge, but I will not be deterred by anyone or anything. Shaw will pay for what he’s done and once he has then I can move on knowing my mother has been properly avenged. _

_ I hope you and Raven are well. I do wish I could have said goodbye to her. She’s such a fierce and spirited girl, and I can tell she cares about you deeply. Despite being only fifteen, she seems very quick-witted—something she probably picked up from you. You’re very lucky to have her. Tell her I’m sorry I didn’t stick around. _

_ I cannot say for certain, but perhaps our paths will cross again one day once I have completed my mission. Until then, I wish you and Raven the best of luck. Keep training; you’ve got a great deal of potential. _

_ I have not met any others like us so far, but if I do I will be sure to pass the news along to you. _

_ Goodbye my friend, _

_ Erik _

Charles and Raven received the letter a week after meeting Erik. For the first year or two, Charles had hoped Erik might write back to them or come visit them again since there was no way for them to contact him. Once five years had gone by, he gave up imagining Erik would return and spent the next seven years shoving their meeting and the adventure they had shared to the back of his mind as he worked towards his degrees.

But he unexpectedly finds the note amongst his things as he’s cleaning up his rooms at Oxford the night before he is to present his thesis. By this time tomorrow he will have his PhD and by the end of the summer they’ll be moving back to the States. The where Charles isn’t sure of, as it depends on where he can find a teaching position. He’s hoping for Columbia, and if not there then maybe Princeton or Harvard…Raven says she doesn’t care as long as he’s happy.

“God, I forgot I had this,” he murmurs to himself in astonishment. He reads it to himself again and despite the sad memories of a potential friendship and alliance disappearing in a hotel in 1950 when Charles’ back is turned for just a moment, he smiles. He’d like to think Erik would be happy to hear Charles is doing his own part in trying to locate more people like themselves—mutants, he’s decided to dub them, given that their abilities are based off of genetic mutations—and to spread awareness of their presence amongst the human population.

He wonders if Erik ever did find anyone else like them. Charles and Raven haven’t come across anyone, but Erik has surely been doing a lot more traveling than they have and would have had a better chance of coming across someone. If he had, though, he hadn’t written to them to let them know, and Charles would like to think that the German would have kept to his promise to inform them of such a find.

“Charles?” a voice calls from the kitchen. It’s Raven, back from work. He hears her set her keys on the table and shed her purse and her coat on one of the chairs before coming down the hall to greet him.

“In here, luv,” he calls back, still holding the worn and crumpled letter in his hands.

“What’s that?” she asks, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around him. She rests her chin on his shoulder, peeking over it to see what he’s holding.

“The letter we received from Erik back in 1950. The one he sent a week after we met him.”

“I remember. You were devastated that he didn’t stay,” she says, burrowing her chin deeper into the crook of his neck and shoulder as she gently tightens her grip on his torso. Charles smiles softly, planting a kiss to her golden locks before responding.

“I was, but I shouldn’t have been surprised. It was so very in his nature to flee from any sort of lasting relationship,” he says with a sigh.

“Sometimes I wonder where he is and what he’s doing…If he ever did find Shaw and—well, you know.”

He nods, his eyes transfixed on the letter still. “If he did, I’d have hoped he would make an appearance,” he murmurs.

“Oh, Charles,” Raven huffs, drawing away from him. He turns to face her, confused by the way she’s suddenly distancing herself from him, like he’s done something wrong. She doesn’t look angry, though, only weary and pitying. “You’re still not over him, are you?”

“What are you talking about?”

She rolls her eyes, placing a hand on her hip and tilting her head to the side as if to non-verbally communicate that it’s obvious what she’s talking about. “Don’t play stupid, Charles. You’ve been pining for him the past thirteen years.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Charles sputters, folding his arms across his chest to complete a rather unimpressive and wholly unconvincing picture of denial.

“So, what, you’ve just been  _ incidentally _ hitting on every living, breathing creature with a mutation, no matter how ridiculously mundane it is? Sleeping with every broad-shoulder, dark and brooding brunette you can find?”

He’s absolutely indignant. He’s scandalized! He wants to tell her that such insinuations are ridiculous and unfounded, but all he seems to be able to do is gape like a fish, mouth opening and closing without any sound or coherent thought passing through his lips.

Raven’s expression morphs from exasperated to triumphant. The smirk on her face is absolutely devilish.

“I’ve dated plenty of people who didn’t fit that profile!” He manages to spit out.

“Okay,” his sister answers calmly, “Give me some examples,” she says, folding her arms over her chest like Charles’ and inclining her chin as an indication for him to go ahead.

“Alright,” he says, thinking for a moment. “Aha! Hathai’s one!”

“You mean the Moken girl with the super strong eyesight that could see underwater and could hold her breath underwater for like half an hour?”  Charles nods. “Mutation,” she deadpans.

“How about Nikolas?”

“Red hair. Mutation, but obviously one of the mundane ones I mentioned.”

“Ethan, that American guy studying abroad for a year during my sophomore term?”

“Freckles. And double-jointed, wasn’t he? That’s two mutations.”

“Okay, well I’m quite sure Aubrey didn’t have a mutation. She was the German girl with the brown hair who was on the women’s rowing team and— _ bollocks _ ,” he mutters, realizing the problem with this example.

“Then there was Allison, the one who I have to thank for now knowing that there are three different kinds of heterochromia; and Francis, the French girl who played tennis and surprisingly a rather dark and brooding kinda gal. Oh, and that one was Jewish just like Joshua and Isiah were.”

Charles simply glares at her as she continues to make her point and prove him wrong.

“And all those are simply the ones I  _ knew  _ about. I don’t even want to count the ones you’ve had one-night stands or two-night stands with,” she adds, staring right back at him. “Have I made my point now?”

With a loud sigh, Charles concedes. “Yes, yes, alright, you’ve made your point. At any rate, whether I’m over him or not, it doesn’t seem like we’re going to be seeing him again.”

Raven grows quiet. “No, probably not.”

“Well,” the soon-to-be-professor says, dropping his arms and clapping his hands once, “I’d best go review my thesis a few more times before tomorrow comes around.”

“You’ve already read it like 296 times, Charles, give it a rest! Let’s go out to dinner and see a movie or something. Have you even eaten today?” The telepath opens his mouth to retort, but she cuts him off, continuing with her scolding. “Never mind. Don’t answer that. I already know that’s a no.”

“Raven, I’m presenting this to dozens of people tomorrow and I want to make sure I have it all right—”

Raven glares at him, and he swears that if looks could kill, Raven’s could fell the entire audience for tomorrow presentation if she were so inclined to do so. “I swear to god if you don’t put that damn thesis down for more than an hour then I’m going to stuff it down your throat. Go change into something that’s  _ not _ a freaking cardigan. You have fifteen minutes and then we’re leaving.”

Knowing better than to argue at this point with his ever-persistent little sister, Charles obeys.

\---

The next seventy-two hours go quite a bit differently than Charles imagined they would. Sure, the presentation of his thesis goes as well as he’d hoped and as Raven had expected. The celebratory revelry afterwards is as enjoyable for Charles as it is amusing for Raven, who finally gets to see her brother having  _ fun _ and  _ not  _ being a boring academic buried in stuffy old books and downing only hot cups of tea. It’s a bit of a rarity for Raven and she absolutely revels in watching her brother loosen up, laughing and joking and throwing back alcohol to the sound of the crowd of co-eds chanting his name.

It’s after the telepath has chugged an entire flask of beer, standing on a bar stool facing said co-eds cheering him on, that things take a turn for the unexpected.

The woman with auburn hair that approaches him next turns Charles’ world on its head. Given that this pretty bean’s only mutation is her auburn hair, he knows she’s asking him about  _ real  _ genetic mutations--aka the kind that he and Raven have--because she’s seen them. When he reads her mind, he’s astounded at the mutations she has witnessed. It’s more than he himself has seen! 

What he sees from Moira sobers him up rather quickly, and he assures her that he will do his utmost to help her.

\---

That night, he dreams of diamond dames and devilish teleporting mutants. When he wakes, he leaps out of bed abruptly, which turns out to have been a very, very bad idea as his surroundings seem to move far faster than he’s ready to. He collides very inelegantly into his dresser and winces at the pain and the loud thunk the collision produces. Swearing under his breath, he races to Raven’s room--definitely  _ not  _ stumbling on his way there.

“Raven!” he shouts, flinging open her door and climbing onto the end of bed with his legs crossed, leaning forward. He raises his hands, gesticulating wildly as he begins to tell Raven about the revelation he’s made upon waking.

“It’s Shaw, Raven! Agent McTaggert--the woman from the bar last night--and the CIA are after Shaw! Do you know what this means?”

Raven, still groggy and very cranky with Charles for waking her up, shoots him a bleary glare over her blanket. “ _ Oh God. Charles. Go away, for fuck’s sake,”  _ she thinks, and there’s no doubt that he was intended to hear that because he certainly wasn’t trying to read her mind. He’d promised that he would never unless given her express permission. “No,” she finally answers aloud, “but I do know that if you want to continue, you’re going to have to bring the volume down.  _ Way _ down. And slow down, while you’re at it.”

The telepath rolls his eyes. “It  _ means,  _ dear sister of mine, that Erik hasn’t caught him yet. Shaw’s still at large, so that’s why Erik hasn’t been in contact with us!”

“Okay,” his sister says slowly. “So even more to the point, you’re hoping that maybe we’ll run into Erik if we help the CIA with hunting down Shaw?”

Charles nods, then grips his head because that makes his head spin in a decidedly unpleasant way. “Speaking of the CIA and our assisting them, we need to meet Agent McTaggert in several hours for our trip to Langley, Virginia. It’ll be a long one.” He pats her leg through her blankets and smiles in as annoyingly cheerful a manner as he can manage in his present state. 

The shapeshifter lets out a long sigh encompassing the greatest magnitude of aggravation and suffering imaginable. She shoots him yet another one of those “if looks could kill” glares and Charles decides to back away before she takes advantage of his proximity and kick him while he’s down.

“Gimme fifteen more minutes and then I’ll get up and get dressed,” she grumbles, leaning her head back and attempting to sink completely into the pillows as she closes his eyes. “And go start a pot of coffee, because I know we  _ both  _ need it. Don’t pretend you’re not hungover as hell because I  _ heard  _ you knock into your dresser when you got up.”

The elder Xavier’s cheeks flush red and he gapes at her. “You heard that?”

“ _ Oh yeah _ ,” she drawls, the amusement clear in her voice despite being sleep-laden. Raven lowers the blankets a bit from her face, solely so he can see the evil little smirk that stands out amongst the scaling blue skin and piercing yellow eyes. 

He can’t glare at her for long when her amusement is practically contagious, though. He finds himself laughing along with her before he carefully rises from his perch on the bed and makes for the door. “Coffee can have it’s merits. At times.” 

Two hours later, they’re meeting up with Agent McTaggert at London Airport and an hour after that they’re on their flight to the States that they hadn’t imagined they would take for at least another few months.

On the flight there, Agent McTaggert--“Feel free to call me Moira unless we’re in front of any other CIA members,” she tells them. Raven nods in understanding and Charles sighs, pinching his nose in annoyance of the misogynistic idiots Moira works with because honestly, no one else  _ but _ an absolute idiot would ignore the tenacity, cleverness, sharp-wittedness, dedication, and loyalty with which Moira serves her country--  _ Moira _ debriefs them on their purpose for coming with her to the CIA Headquarters in Langley, Virginia. 

Really, the plan only consists of Charles giving a brief presentation not too dissimilar to the one he gave only hours ago at Oxford to convince the higher-ups of the existence of mutants, therefore exposing the true danger of men like Shaw and his companions. The rest all depends on how the whole thing goes, but Moira tells them that most likely they will be asked to remain in or around Langley’s campus so that the CIA may consult Charles as needed while they pursue Shaw. Charles isn’t entirely pleased with the idea of being holed away instead of being directly involved in Shaw’s capture. He knows how useful he could be in such a mission, but he keeps those thoughts to himself. Moira doesn’t know that he and Raven are mutants, so of course she doesn’t know how potentially useful he could be. Revealing his mutation, let alone Raven’s, is a last resort.

\---

As it turns out, he and Raven both have to out themselves as mutants to the group of CIA agents assembled in the conference room the next morning. Charles’ presentation goes as spectacularly awful as he and Raven expected. What he says sounds so absolutely outlandish and downright loony that it earns him the title of “crackpot scientist,” which his recently obtained Doctorates degree from Oxford University would beg to differ.

When his presentation and his “magic trick” both fail to convince the disbelievers, Raven stands up abruptly and shifts from her natural form, to McCone’s form, then back to her own form. Charles’ heart can’t help but race at the sight of these men and Moira gawking unbelievably at his sister, and he tries his best to quell his panic because this is what he  _ feared  _ happening to Raven. He’d always wanted to keep her secret and hidden and unexposed--but it’s too late now. 

The smug grin he sends the men’s way is forced, but it helps him to get his point across:  _ I’m right, you bastards. You see? No crackpot scientists here. Just mutants. Real, live mutants. _

Of course, them and their ability to perform such “magic tricks” are deemed extremely dangerous, so they’re not allowed to leave freely like Moira initially said they would be. Instead, they are ushered out of the room by a plump man in thick, black glasses and a black suit as the debate about them and what to do about Shaw continues. Aside from Moira, Charles sensed that he was the most open-minded of the agents. He had quickly decided that instead of fearing mutants, the government should try to work with them to ensure the safety of the people. 

They were heading to the parking garage to travel to the Man in the Black Suit’s facility when Charles, still loosely linked to Moira’s mind, caught wind of some important news. Using a little trick he’d picked up since he last met Erik (he had quite a few of those tricks, actually), Charles reached out to the agent and instructed her to meet them at the parking garage.

The Man in the Black Suit, who tells them that they can call him ‘Oliver’ or ‘Agent Platt’, is quite perplexed when Moira’s car cuts them off suddenly. He’s also very reluctant to let them leave to go anywhere aside from his personal facility. The telepath easily convinces him to get into the car without further hesitation, having no qualms about telepathically ordering a man around given the time constraint they’re facing. If they don’t hurry, then they may lose Shaw for good.

_ And Erik _ , a small voice in Charles’s head chimes in.

\---

By nightfall, the recent Oxford graduate finds himself standing on the bow of a Coast Guard boat in Miami with Agent McTaggert and Agent Platt. Raven comes along, but only on the condition that she remain strictly below deck. Charles tried earlier to get her to stay at Platt’s facility, but she was very insistent and Charles had to admit he was a bit reluctant to let her stay at some stranger’s facility. Despite the dangerousness of this mission, he’d rather have Raven nearby. A habit of being an older brother and of having charged himself with ensuring her safety and protection for so many years, he figures.

As Shaw’s yacht comes into range, Charles tries to pinpoint the man’s location on the vessel. He reaches out to read the thoughts of those aboard only to come up blank, hitting a telepathic brick wall despite his attempts to push through it. He grips the railing a little tighter, his index and middle finger digging a little deeper into his temple as he tries to tune in to the very tenuous lock he’s got on Shaw. It does no good, because a moment later the entire picture is lost. Thumping his fist on the railing, Charles informs the agents beside him that he’s lost their target. “There’s something blocking me,” he explains. “This has never happened to me before,” he absently adds as he continues to reestablish the link, but instead of any sort of success he’s met with the same wall blocking him out entirely. And then, suddenly, he feels a cold, invasive presence rooting around in  _ his  _ mind dredging up the name ‘Charles Francis Xavier,’ his title of ‘Professor of Genetics,’ and the fact that he’s here to assist the CIA in apprehending Sebastian Shaw.

The revelation that this is a result of someone else’s telepathy--that he’s finally come across someone like  _ him _ is both thrilling and unsettling. He shares this revelation with Moira and Agent Platt, clarifying for her when she asks what he means by ‘like you?’

Curious, Charles pushes back at the other telepath to try to read her mind like she has his. She seems to have had more practice in shielding, or perhaps has stronger shielding abilities than he does, because he can’t get past her no matter how hard he concentrates or how far he digs his index and middle fingers into his temple. “This is incredible,” he says distractedly, knowing he looks like he’s staring blankly off into the dark Miami waters while he’s actually waging a sort of staring contest with the telepath across the waves, “I can actually feel her inside my mind.” Instead of gaining any sort of purchase in her mind or any of the other minds aboard, for that matter, Charles is roughly pushed out. He grunts, wincing and rubbing his temple at the pain that shoots between his temples as a result. With an apologetic frown, Charles glances between the two agents. “I’m very sorry, but I don’t think I’m going to be much help to you tonight. You’re on your own.”

He doesn’t realize just how unprepared and over their heads they are until he sees the whirlpools that suddenly appear out of nowhere, growing rapidly in size and intensity as they travel quickly across the waters to meet the Coast Guard boats that are making their way toward Shaw’s yacht. The telepath’s eyes widen with grim realization seconds before they collide with the Coast Guard vessels and literally blow them out of the water. The motor boats flipped up into the air and back into the water and Charles doesn’t see anyone break the surface again. Moira and Agent Platt are, obviously, equally horrified.

He’s still staring at the upturned boats when Agent Platt suggest they make a hasty retreat. He doesn’t move until he feels the man’s hand at his back as he begins to usher Charles toward the stairwell that leads below decks. Suddenly feeling very out of his depth and very useless and exposed, Charles thinks that perhaps that’s the smartest and most useful thing he can do right now. He, Moira, and Agent Platt begin their scramble down the stairs, but they don’t get far before Charles picks up on another mind that he previously missed. He can’t help but latch onto it given that the person it belongs to is broadcasting so loudly, so  _ violently  _ that it pains him.  _ “Stop stop stop!”  _ he cries out frantically to the rest of the procession.

Concerned, Moira stops immediately and puts a hand on his shoulder. “Charles? Are you okay?”

He doesn’t answer, too busy trying to reestablish his shields and lock onto the cause of the disturbance. It’s a third party, Charles already knows, that is neither with Shaw or the CIA and Coast Guard.

“Oh God,” Charles says when he senses the unmistakable rage, determination, and anger flooding from the mind that is currently commanding an anchor out of the water and preparing to let it loose upon Shaw’s vessel in a savage and unrepentant attempt to kill the man. “It’s  _ Erik. _ ”

This, of course, means nothing to Moira or Agent Platt. “What?”

Charles doesn’t bother answering. He’s too busy reeling over the fact that his hunch was right and that he’s finally run into Erik again after all these years…

And that he has to intervene before somebody--either the Coast Guard or Shaw and his cohorts--kills him. 

He pushes past Moira and another person retreating down the stairs with them to reach the nearest door, opening it and hurrying past everyone else on deck. He runs to the railing, watching as Erik lets the anchor he’s risen from the waters tear through compartment after compartment.

“What’s he doing?” Agent Platt shouts, sounding panicked. “It’s dangerous for him up there!”

“Charles, wait!” Moira calls after him, her and Platt following him now as he runs across the deck past startled servicemen to get to the railing again. He gets there in time to see Erik turning his attention to something in the water, a murky light moving beneath the surface.  _ A submarine. _ Good Lord, they had a submarine attached to the yacht for quick, last-ditch effort getaways like this one! There’s no way the Coast Guard will be able to keep up with them.

The fact that Shaw is now speeding away in a submarine does not stop Erik, of course. Charles senses him reaching out with his power to stop the vessel in its tracks, but he isn’t strong enough. Charles sees it continue to move through the water only a fraction slower than it should be moving. 

“Let go!” Charles shouts at Erik as loudly as he can, because he can see where this is headed. The submarine is too much for Erik but the metal-bender is refusing to accept this fact. He’s determined to try until he drowns. “ _ Let go! You have to let it go!” _

Moira and Agent Pratt appear beside him now, watching in shock as Erik continues to stop the submarine. All Charles can pay attention to is how Erik’s face keeps disappearing beneath the waves more and more and how he must be having a harder time breathing with each passing moment.

Desperately, he turns to the two CIA agents. “You have to put someone in the water to help him! Please!” The pair simply stare at him, Moira at least fumbling to provide him with a response and looking apologetic.

Gripping the railing so tightly he feels like he might be capable of snapping it--but no, that’s Erik’s power, not his--Charles returns his gaze to the water in time to see the submarine sink further below the water and, to his horror, dragging Erik with it. They disappear beneath the dark waves moments before they reach the Coast Guard ship. No doubt they are now traveling beneath it.

Charles spares one last look at the agents beside him, hoping they might be able to help  _ somehow _ , but they shake their heads. There’s nothing they can do--or nothing they  _ want  _ to do after seeing one mutant who can create hurricanes that flip boats and another who can tear through the decks of a yacht and who can even attempt to move a submarine. 

“Oh  _ bloody hell _ ,” he hisses, shoving past the two as he races to the other side of the ship. Moira is calling after him again, but he doesn’t pay her or anyone else any heed. He’s tearing off his jacket as he runs, pushing past alarmed and confused crewmembers before he finally reaches the short diving board that juts out off the side. The submarine’s lights come back into view just then and he knows that Erik must be almost right beneath him now. He doesn’t consider how far above the water it is--and it  _ is  _ a good number of feet above the water--or how cold it is. Without any hesitation, Charles dives into the water.

The cold water combined with the force with which his body hits the water stings and disorients him for a moment, but as soon as his eyes adjust he notices Erik right in front of him. The metal-bender is so concentrated on his task, practically shaking with effort and rage, that he doesn’t notice Charles’ presence in the water behind him. Not until Charles has wrapped his arms around Erik’s chest and begun trying to tug him toward the surface. 

_ “Erik, you can’t, you’ll drown! You have to let it go. I’m sorry, my friend, I know what this means to you, but you have to let it go or you’re going to die. I can’t let that happen,”  _ he says, telepathically reaching out to the man he once met twelve years ago. Erik’s struggles against him, hands still reached out to try to latch onto the submarine that is quickly fading from view ahead of them. 

“ _ Calm your mind, Erik! For heaven’s sake, let him go and calm your mind!” _ Charles practically shouts, projecting an aura of calm at Erik to make getting them both to the surface a little easier. His breath is beginning to wear thin, and he’s sure Erik’s is, too. _ “We’ll find him again, I promise!”  _ he adds just before they break the surface.

The moment they come up, Erik is shoving him away and shouting at him to get off. Charles backs away, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. 

“What the hell are you doing here, Charles?” he asks a moment later, voice breathless as he tries to catch his breath.

Charles, breathing raggedly, raises an eyebrow. “What do you think?” A wave laps up and Charles raises his chin to avoid getting pulled under again. “Going after Shaw, same as you.”

“I told you not to,” Erik says, referring to the discussion they’d had on the subject twelve years ago. “I said it was something you and Raven should stay away from.”

“Yes, well, it all sort of happened by accident,” he says, shrugging as best he can with waves splashing around them and threatening to swallow them up again. Realizing that the Coast Guard must be wondering where they are, Charles turns toward the ship which is further away than Charles thought it would be, and shouts, “We’re here!”

“I also recall telling you to stay out of my head,” Erik adds bitterly, shooting Charles a dark look when the telepath turns back to face him.

“Yes and I said I’d do my best to do so. The situation, however, rather called for it,” he answers, not in the least bit sorry for breaking an oath he did remember from their meeting so many years ago.

Erik’s eyes narrow and his gaze darkens, but he says nothing.

Sensing that Moira, Agent Platt, and the others on the ship didn’t hear him the first time, he turns again toward the ship and shouts again,“Over here!” For good measure, he also telepathically shoots the message directly to Agents McTaggert and Platt.

“I almost had him,” Erik growls. Charles rolls his eyes and turns back to him, anger and frustration bubbling up in him.

“No, you very nearly got yourself  _ killed, _ ” he snaps back. “Perhaps you would’ve if I hadn’t stopped you! Dammit Erik, I know what he’s done to you and I know you want to make him pay, but giving up your life for your revenge isn’t worth it!”

“You can’t tell me what I think my life is worth. I’ll die if I have to. Anything to get back at Shaw.”

“I’m not telling you what I think you think your life is worth, I’m telling you what  _ I  _ think your life is worth!” Charles says, voice raising in volume. God, he’s so angry at Erik for throwing away so many years of his life, for throwing away his health and safety, just for revenge. How his mother would surely disapprove, wanting him to get on with his life instead of harping on the loss of her for years on end.

“You haven’t seen or heard from me in twelve years, Charles! We only knew each other for two days before that! What do you care if I live or die?” Erik shouts.

“Because I’ve never been able to stop thinking about you ever since!” he blurts out, his eyes widening a moment later and his cheeks flushing as he realizes the implications of what he’s just said. To add insult to injury, or perhaps to spare him from having to wait for Erik’s response, a wave strikes him from the side and he goes under for a moment. He feels Erik grab him and pull him up and a moment later he’s resurfacing and the two of them are closer than they were a moment ago. Erik’s looking him dead in the eyes and Charles wants nothing more than to be swallowed up by the waves again so he doesn’t have to meet his gaze.

_ Where the hell is the bloody Coast Guard?  _ he wonders, but despite his desire to look back and see, he can do anything but.

“What are you trying to say, Charles?” Erik asks, tone soft and curious but his eyes so hard to read.

Charles fumbles for words. “I--”

“There they are!” he hears an unfamiliar voice shout from behind, and  _ Oh God, thank the Heavens! _ the Coast Guard has finally gotten into the water to retrieve them.

Half an hour later, the pair are standing below deck with Raven. Charles has several towels wrapped around him courtesy of the crew and insisted upon by Raven. His little sister has only just finished berating him for diving off the side of the goddamn ship-- _ the goddamn ship, Charles! Do you even know how many feet that was? How dangerous it was?-- _ and is attempting to dry off his hair as he swats her hands away. “Raven, stop! It’s not going to dry right if you do it like that!” he fusses. She tells him that if he cared so much then he wouldn’t be so reckless. Erik snickers from his seat in the corner as he dries himself off.

Erik, wearing a tight-fitting wetsuit, is far less cold and wet than Charles is and has restricted himself to one towel. Charles would’ve been content to settle for one as well if he didn’t have such a fussy sister. Of course it’s probably something that rubbed off on her from him, so he only has himself to blame.

“Laugh all you want, Erik. I’m coming for you next, seeing as you’re the reason he jumped into the water in the first place,” Raven says, shooting him a warning look. The elder Xavier holds back a chuckle as his little sister scolds the menacing-looking German who was, not even an hour ago, hurling a ship’s anchor through the middle of a large yacht.

“I didn’t make him do anything,” Erik counters as he makes his way to the bathroom across the hall to change into the sweats that one of the crewmen kindly provided him with. Not that Erik was thankful, of course. After Erik had accepted the offering and stalked off, Charles made sure to thank the man for him as well as for himself, since he’d been gifted his own pair.

 

“Yeah, nothing except make him fall in love with you,” Raven mutters with a roll of her eyes.

He holds his breath for a moment as Erik continues his retreat to the bathroom, hoping to any kind of deity tuning in to this ridiculous scene playing out on this Coast Guard ship in the waters of Miami that the metal-bender hasn’t heard. He lets it out when Erik closes the door behind him, clearly not having heard what Raven said. With that catastrophe averted, he turns his attention to his sister.

“Are you mad? What if he’d heard you?” he hisses, keeping his voice low.

“He didn’t. I said it low enough that I knew he wouldn’t,” she casually replies, shrugging.

Charles glowers at her, but even he knows that his boyish face, rosy lips, and kind blue eyes don’t make him look very threatening.

“I just wanted to confirm that you did actually love him,” she adds, making Charles blink, jaw slack.

“That’s-That’s ridiculous. Raven, I already told you that I don’t feel that way about Erik!”

“Mmhmm.” She folds her arms across her chest. “Our conversation a couple days ago makes me inclined to believe otherwise.”

“Well, let me help you set the record straight on this particular issue: I. Am. Not. In. Love. With.  _ Erik _ .”

“Talking about me, are you?” Erik says a moment later, not from the bathroom but from the doorway as he reenters the room. Charles nearly jumps out of his skin, thinking for sure that he’s heard  _ that. _

Raven has what has to be the most satanic and devilishly amused look on her face. “Just talking how you’ve changed since we last saw you,” she lies easily, giving Charles a knowing glance. He narrows his eyes at her, but he can’t give her his full disapproving glare because 1. it’s practically ineffective on her at this point and 2. he can’t let on to Erik that ‘talking about how you’ve changed’ is most certainly  _ not  _ what they’ve been talking about.

“I’m certainly not the only one,” Erik casually remarks, straightening out the black shirt underneath the zip-up Coast Guard hoodie--and  _ dammit, how does he make a pair of sweats look that good? That’s completely unfair! _ Raven raises a curious brow in response, so Erik elaborates. “You’ve grown into a lovely woman, Raven. I imagine the true you hiding underneath those blonde locks must be equally as beautiful.” She blushes, thanking him shyly as she absent-mindedly twirls a finger around one of said locks of hair. “And Charles,” he begins, and while his gaze is focused on the telepath, the shapeshifter out of his line of sight again grins wickedly at her brother, “I see you’ve come a far way with your telepathy. You’ve learned quite a few new tricks, haven’t you?”

Charles nods. “I have, actually. You haven’t even seen the best of them yet,” he says excitedly, the mere thought of getting to show Erik just how far he’s come making his heart skip with anticipation.

“Oh, yeah, he did this one earlier with Agent Platt--the guy in the black suit and glasses who’s kinda”--Raven makes a gesture with her arms, curving them outward to imply a larger figure--“when he wouldn’t let us leave the CIA headquarters to chase after Shaw,” she tells him in her typical animated style. Growing up together, Charles had always thought she was quite the storyteller. He didn’t quite have the skill for telling them, only reading them. “Agent Platt said he didn’t want us to go anywhere other than the headquarters or his own facility, so Charles said, ‘would you like to see another magic trick?’”--again, she mimicks Charles’ posh English accent--“and Agent Platt of course said yeah, so Charles did the whole”--she wiggles her fingers by her head, doing a crude imitation of Charles’ signature move whenever he had to use his mutation--“and said ‘get in the car,’ to which Agent Platt says, ‘Good idea!’ and immediately hops right in! It was great,” she finishes with a grin.

Erik looks a little surprised, but impressed. “What else have you learned to do since we last saw each other?”

“Oh, loads,” Raven cuts in. “I’ll leave you two to catch up. I’m gonna go have a chat with Moira and enjoy the trip back to shore.” It was a tad chilly out, but Raven had a higher tolerance for the cold than most people and had always been a more seafaring person than Charles. She leaves quickly and abruptly, lingering just long enough to say goodbye to Erik and that she glad to see him again, and then to remind Charles that he’s wearing clothes that are utterly soaked through and that he needs to change if he doesn’t want to catch hypothermia or whatever.

It’s pneumonia, he corrects, but she just huffs and rolls her eyes before disappearing.

“Best do that bit before you forget,” Erik says, and Charles nods in agreement. 

A minute later he steps out and heads back into the room to find Erik waiting directly on the other side of the door. “Erik,” he says, writing the hitch in his breathing off as a result of the metal-bender standing so unexpectedly right in front of the door and not as a result of anything else. “Is everything alright?” he asks, unconsciously fiddling with the sweats. They suit Erik well with his tall frame and muscular build, but the recent Oxford grad is shorter and more gangly in build. In other words, the supposed one-size-fits-all set clearly does not fit Charles.

“Do you have feelings for me, Charles?” he asks, and this time his heart skips at least one beat not out of excitement but out of fear because  _ oh God, he knows!  _ But of course he knows, Charles practically admitted it to him while they were treading water waiting for the Coast Guard to pick them back up.

“What makes you think that?” he stammers instead of telling the truth that he’s sure Erik already knows.

“Because for the past twelve years I couldn’t get you out of my head, either.”

“You--” Charles’ mind can’t seem to process this information. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I couldn’t get you out of my head no matter how hard I tried, and it’s not because you were the first mutant I’d ever met or because you helped me track down those Nazis.”

“ _ Oh _ ,” Charles stupidly replies.

“You haven’t forgotten me after all this time because of my mutation, it’s because you have feelings for me, isn’t it?”

“I--Funny, I thought I was the telepath,” he laughs.

“Just because I don’t have a PhD from the University of Oxford doesn’t mean I’m a fool, Charles.”

“I never said--”

“Also, I heard the tail end of your conversation with Raven. You sounded like a man in denial if ever there was one.”

“And you’re not?”

Erik shakes his head. “No. In fact it gave me all the more reason to stay away from you until I’d taken care of Shaw.”

“Ah.” He nods slowly, trying to grapple with this new knowledge that his infatuation has not been one-sided even after all these years and that Erik has made himself stay away in attempt to protect Charles from the dark and violent life he leads. But Erik doesn't have to live that kind of life. Not anymore. Now he has Charles and Raven to help him stop Sebastian Shaw at last and this time they’re definitely not letting him go on his own.

“And...when exactly did you realize your...feelings?” Charles hesitantly asks.

“The day I left you. I knew I felt something and I felt scared. Of what I was feeling and of what I might do if I gave in to it. I couldn’t let you get involved in my hunt for Shaw and I didn’t want to be sidetracked, either, so I left,” he says, sounding guilty as he stares down at the floor. 

Charles swallows. “I knew I felt something on the train ride home after we met, but it wasn’t until you left the next day that I was sure,” he confesses, also finding the steel flooring quite the marvel to look at. “I always wished for you to write again or to come back to us. I’m sure it drove Raven mad,” he says with a laugh. “I’m sure I spent a ridiculous amount of time imagining when you might come back; how you’d return; what I’d say; what I’d do…” And at this point he realizes two things: 1. that he’s now pointlessly babbling and 2. that the heat of Erik’s gaze is on him. Charles warily glances up, wondering what Erik must think of him now for all the ridiculous pining he’s done over the years.

“How about what I’d do?” the metal-bender says, quirking a mischievous brow up at him.

It’s not the response Charles imagined he’d get. He wants to just pull Erik into a kiss now, but part of him still fears that the taller mutant will disappear on him again as soon as he gets the chance. He’s still after Shaw; the man is still at large. “You don’t have those same concerns?” he says instead, because before he does anything he needs to shake those fears off.

“I do, but I think for now working with you and the CIA is the best chance I have of catching Shaw,” he explains.

“Yes, I think you’re right about that,” he nods slowly.

“But let me be clear, Charles, that while I care for you, I won’t let you stop me from going after Shaw. I’m still as determined as I was back then.”

“I understand. I know how dangerous he is now and I won’t be getting in your way. I...I agree that he needs to be stopped,” he says with a frown. Charles is a pacifist and doesn’t often condone violence, but Shaw poses a very real and serious threat to the safety of the world.

Erik looks surprised, but pleased. “Yes, he does. I have to say, though, I wasn’t expecting you to be on board with me on this.”

“Shaw poses a threat to us all and to the peace we’re trying to bring to our country and the Soviets. There’s no other choice: We have to stop him, whether I like the idea or not.” Erik seems to understand that this is hard for Charles, even if he doesn’t quite understand why. Shaw is an evil man. He killed Erik’s mother, oversaw Erik’s torture as a child, helped to torture and kill hundreds if not thousands of others...he’s an absolute monster deserving of death and long overdue to meet his maker. “So you’ll not be running again, then?” Charles asks after a moment of silence between the two.

“No,” Erik assures him with a shake of his head. “No, not if you’re already involved in this--”

“--and certainly not stepping back this time to let you go at this alone. We’re helping, and that’s the end of it,” Charles announces, his tone firm enough to make it clear there’s no point to argue with him. He’s a stubborn man when he wants to be.

Erik rolls his eyes. “No, not if that’s the case, as well.”

“Good,” Charles says, grin splitting across his face.

A similar grin, but more mischievous in its nature, slowly spreads across his face as well. “Normally, I wouldn’t be standing around waiting to act, but it would appear that we have some time to kill until we get off this ship.” Ah, so he has the same idea in mind as Charles. Yes, good.

“About damn time,” Charles breathes, surging forward at the same moment Erik does to grab at the taller man and press his lips against his. It’s a mess of eager, covetous hands at first, but then they find their hold on each other like locks clicking into place or pieces of a puzzle slotting into the missing sections. Charles has one hand at the nape of Erik’s neck, but the other has a grasp on his shoulder so he pull the metal-bender closer as needed. Erik, on the other hand, has wound an arm around Charles’ waist and his free hand is caressing his neck.

Consumed by his senses and the emotional feedback that’s coming from both himself and Erik that he can’t and won’t bother to tune out right now, it takes Charles rather a long minute to realize that they’re moving. Erik is directing him backward toward the far end of the room, and now that Charles has realized his plans he now works more in tandem with him to get them there without breaking them apart.

Erik shoves him roughly up against the metal wall, which extorts a gasp from Charles and admittedly allows him a moment that he needs to catch his breath. But it’s a moment Erik takes advantage of in order to deepen the kiss, his tongue slipping into Charles’ mouth. His breath hitches when he feels a hand grab his ass to pull him in closer, and he feels Erik’s lips curve up in a mischievous smile against his own.

In response, Charles’ hand drifts down to Erik’s hip before he slips his hand under the other man’s shirt and pulls him closer as he spreads his fingers against the warm, toned flesh beneath it. 

Erik’s lips are slowly moving down Charles’ jaw, trailing kissing against his jawline and then down his neck in all the right spots-- _ and Jesus, how does he even know just the right places?  _ Charles distantly wonders, not that he really cares about investigating that. It just further proves why this seems so right and natural. It sounds corny to claim it’s all part of a grander scheme like Destiny, but he can’t help but think that perhaps that does have a little something to do with it--making the telepath moan and whine and shutter in all sorts of delightful ways, as Erik telepathically assures him, when the door opens unbeknownst to the pair.

“Oh--Oh my  _ God!  _ Well, I see you two are as  _ friendly  _ as ever!” Raven remarks suddenly from the doorway, causing the two to split apart hastily. Without needing to read her mind, Charles knows that the only shock she’s suffering from is the shock of seeing her brother in a somewhat more compromising position that she’s ever seen or wanted to see him in. And perhaps surprised they’ve acted upon their feelings so quickly.

“Raven!” Charles stammers, smoothing his clothes out and running a hand through his probably mussed damp hair. He can feel the red hot heat spreading across his cheeks, but he can only imagine the hickeys that are probably forming  _ already  _ and that makes it even more uncomfortable.

Raven shakes her head and holds up her hand to stop him. “Nope! Say nothing! I’m leaving now,” she declares. “This never happened. Go ahead and go back to it if you want, we haven’t reached the docks yet.” Without further word, she spins around and firmly shuts the door behind her.

“Oh my God,” Charles says, staring at the door mortified.

“I believe I did tell you twelve years ago that knowing when people were approaching would be a useful telepathic skill to develop,” Erik cheekily remarks from somewhere behind him.

“And I believe I told you then that I’d been a bit  _ distracted _ ,” he says, about to turn around to shoot him a look, but Erik has already closed the distance between them and wrapped an arm around him as he resumes kissing his way down Charles’ neck. “But,” he says breathlessly, before he pulls away and turns around to face him. “I’ve been waiting twelve years for  _ this  _ distraction, so quit talking.” With that he takes charge, pushing Erik towards the wall as his hands wander beneath the German’s shirt and their lips meet once more.

\--

The day after their reunion, they arrive at Agent Platt’s base, meet Hank, and begin talks with Moira and Agent Platt about starting a new division of the CIA that is exclusively made up of mutants. Their first mission, obviously, is to find and stop Shaw. 

Charles accidentally outs Hank as a mutant, which Erik endlessly teases him for later, and Raven is beaming with pleasure and excitement at meeting yet another mutant. More specifically, another mutant with a more visible mutation like hers. 

Agent Platt tells Charles about the machine Hank has been working on, and Charles sees it on the grounds on his walk to Erik’s room later that night, but he doesn’t know a great deal much about it. Not until the next morning.

As he’d promised the day before, Agent Platt meets Charles in his office to explain the machine out on the green expanse beyond his window. Of course his office has a perfect view of the large, spherical device. When he learns it could possibly allow him to extend and amplify his abilities in order to find other mutants, Charles is already prepared to run out onto the lawn and test the thing out. He wants to find Hank and give it a go immediately, but he holds himself back because there’s a piece of this plan of Agent Platt’s--which is to use the machine to locate, track down, and recruit other mutants to join their team--that makes him a tad weary. It isn’t until Erik walks in unexpectedly--and brings a not-so-subtle smile to Charles’ face-- that he realizes what it is.

“They should be found by their own kind. Charles and I do it alone,” Erik says, and the telepath immediately nods and agrees that it would be best if the pair of them did it without Moira or Agent Platt accompanying them.

Platt disagrees and refuses at first, but Charles has the upper hand in that he’s the only one who can use the machine, so he relents.

“So it’s settled, then,” Charles announces cheerfully as he rises from the seat on the other side of Platt’s desk. “I’ll go see Hank about setting up a test run,” he adds, nodding his head in the direction of what Hank would later inform them all he liked to call  _ Cerebro. _

He and Erik leave Platt, who is still sitting a bit stunned in his desk, smiling back at each other as they walk down the hallway.

“This is exactly what I’d hoped for all those years ago, Erik,” he confides in his friend and lover with an excited grin. “Finding other mutants, helping them learn about their abilities, bringing us all together…”

“I’m as excited as you are to meet our fellow mutants,” Erik assures him.

“This is just the beginning, Erik. Can you just imagine what great things this will lead to? I can’t even express how excited I am to test out this invention of Hank’s!”

“No, I’ll leave the imagining to you, Charles,” Erik says, pausing them in the deserted hallway to plant a kiss on his lips.

Charles meets his gaze, blue eyes sparkling with warmth and optimism and hope. “Don’t sell yourself short, my friend, you’re capable of more than you give yourself credit for.” With that he leans forward and returns the brief, chaste kiss Erik had given him seconds earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is! Hopefully you guys enjoyed the final piece here and the way I totally stepped the Cherik up like five notches, haha.
> 
> Fun Fact #1: Olver Platt is the name of the actor dubbed "Man in Black Suit" in the film. Kuddos to you if you got the reference!
> 
> Fun Fact #2: the Moken are an actual group of people with the actual mutation described above. They've adapted over the many years to have extra strong eyesight and hold their breath for long periods of time because of the amount of time they spend in the water and the fact that they rely on fishing heavily. They're often referred to as the "Sea Gypsies" of Myanmar. They've got a pretty groovy mutation and seem like a fascinating group of people that I happened across while looking up some mutations, so if you're interested in learning more about them you can check out the links below or of course Google them:
> 
> http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2005/04/sea-gypsies/ivanoff-text  
> http://www.survivalinternational.org/galleries/moken-sea-gypsies  
> http://www.projectmoken.com/
> 
> PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE try to leave a comment saying what you thought about this or at least give me a kuddos if you enjoyed it! I greatly appreciate it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
